insecurity

He's brimming with insecurity,

"There's no correlation to anything tangible" he said, whilst discussing football, 

His belching nonsense,

That he used in meetings, all day, 

Fits here, on the train, as well, 

Peering intensely, into the eyes of his victim, 

As he certainly asserts his bullshit, 

With the whole train-car listening, listless and comatosed, 

From a day full of gagging on bullshit, 

A lifetime of being forcefed bullshit.

Bullshit for money 

Is the exchange being made here, 

But now we're all being made to listen for free

Tell it to your minions, 

Your clients and your marks, 

The suit your wearing was paid for by something, 

Your political hot-potatoes, used for risk mitigations, 

Might have some use to someone, who probably isn't paying, 

His piggy-eyes grow smaller, as he tells his non-stories, and he exhorts "don't be fooled, because they're just rolling back," 

But nobody here, knows what he's talking about, 

There's a club of people who trade in meaningless innuendo and implications and words, all the way on the high-speed, where nobody cares, because nobody's listening and nobody's living, they're already dead, on the way to their deaths. 

The high-speed that goes back and forth, and ends up in death.