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Poem

We are merging and surging, and rapidly purging.  
A rich man is buying our company, and he is bringing us backers, and hackers,

Best of all a stash of great cold, hard, green cash.
We are throwing out desks, and we are throwing out chairs.
Some out the window, others down the back stairs.

The money is coming; it will be here by Tuesday.
In the form of a suit, and a man with a new play. 
We are merging and surging and rapidly purging.

Millions you say? No, I think more. His name is Matthew McMooters.
Billions perhaps. We will have new computers.
                 See that old desk?  Come help me push.
It will burn up so quick, with a wonderful swoosh.

Did I forget to tell you Old Pat has built a pyre on the twenty-fourth floor?
           There are forty employees up there already,
           With Tom, Harry, Ann and Freddy.

We are merging and surging and rapidly purging.
Follow me Nick.  Follow me Nate.  
Let’s go up in the elevator, bring your Mac Eight.

			We’ll throw this picture in, this plant, this plate.
                              The rich guy will be here Tuesday.
                            With his money hard and smooth.  
                          Come on folks, let’s decide our next move.

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