To us belongs the wonder of the chain,
the blockchain’s charm, the speed of flawless trade;
this algorithm sings like pure soprano,
for years it pleased the merchants unafraid—
yet do not rub your hands in triumph now too soon.
And I shall speak of this without delay,
and stir both awe and fear within the crowd,
upon the markets’ floors, in sudden sway—
confusion rising, trembling voices loud.
For in the final, fateful moment hear:
the weakest place is always hidden there—
in secret bonds where trust becomes the snare,
in blind belief in Bitcoin’s liquid prayer,
in regulator’s ban — behold it so,
the fragile link where fortune’s sinews go.
Thus, coin distributed among the people wide,
praised by believers as a sacred sign;
yet mining’s labour, centralized in pride,
becomes both offering and spoil of shrine.
Such wonders every age is doomed to see:
through wars and kings, through hardened hands of rule,
Bitcoin has grown by fever’s legacy
and thickened like a bar of molten gold.
Alas!
Unshaken stands the moral law, forgot by all.
Look to the root and hear my voice’s call:
in time it too shall vanish in the years—
a promised land of greed dissolves in tears,
like faith and dogma, lost to labour’s sleep,
and with it comes the law that none can keep—
the law of self-destruction, dark and deep.