He used to think he was such a hit
Showing off here, glittering there a bit
Blinded by the vain blanket he knit
Challenging right, making nonsense fit
Little did he know he would get thrashed
His plane of fortune will soon be crashed
No more leverage you get out-lashed
Poor lad had his final check too cashed
And when he was put under pressure and a little bit of stress
He just snapped out like paper out of the press
No one for him to console no body to caress
Out-done, out-witted, checkmate in his game of chess!
Was it time to moan and cry out loud? asked his heart
Because the end was still far, he riding his life cart
With shops of opportunity and chains of "chance-mart"
It was time to revoke and revise, let the game restart
Schlumberger interview going wrong was a sign
That he was still flawed, his character not sublime
Discipline needed and boundary conditions to define
Wants to be a professional hit, slash the bat incline!