'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ UP. Not a career was secure, not you and not me.
The metrics were met by the employees who care. In hopes that their jobs, still would be there.
The trains were all nestled snug in their sheds. While visions of a 55OR danced in their heads.
And Beth Whited in her office and I at my desk. Had just settled in to forecast our best.
When out on the market arose such a clatter, I sprang up to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The sun on the breast of the new fallen snow. A message read to all, “Lance does blow”.
Gave the cluster of executives to all those below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear. But yet a new operating strategy and employees who muttered, “oh dear”.
With a little common sense, so lively and compelling. I knew in a moment, it must be short selling.
More rapid then eagles our CEO did fold, to the pressure of wall street and the lies that were told.
And he whistled and shouted call’d them by name:
“Now Knight! Now Whited! Now, Rocker and Tennison!
On Rock, on Moore, on Lischer and Ferguson!”
“To the top of the bunker, to the top of HQ!”
“Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
"As trains that before the broken rail fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky!"
So up to the customers the executives flew. With a mouth full of promises – and broken ones too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on my floor. The prancing and praying of each workor.
As I drew in my head and was turning around. Down the escalator Lance came with a bound.
He was dressed in Armani, from his foot to ascot. And his clothes were all tarnishe’d with the tears of Cameron Scott.
A bundle of BS was flung on his back. And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack:
His eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples how merry. His eyes were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow. And the hair on his head was as white as the snow;
The stump of a speech he held tight in his teeth. And like smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a long face, and a little round belly. And crazy directions, that shook the stock silly.
He was inconsistent and flaky, a right jolly old elf. And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head. Soon gave us all something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work. Stealing Hunter’s strategy; then turn’d like a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose, he snorted a line and up he arose.
He sprung to his plane and to his team gave a whistle. And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight-
"Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night."