Random Thoughts
Money printing is a game of musical chairs and when the music stops everyone holding paper will be fucked
In a realm where starlight flows and glimmers bright,
Upon strange trees they sit, under the night.
Each silent figure on their perch so grand,
Holds not a coin of gold within their hand.
For in this dance of cosmic ebb and flow,
The music’s whimsy only few will know.
A game of chairs in celestial courts,
Where fiat falls and sounder money sorts.
The flares of wings in gentle, haunting sweeps,
Whisper of losses vast where paper weeps.
Beneath the stars, where wise ones dare not cling
To promises of paper, frail and thin.
Those left in dark with empty hands will see
The cost of printed dreams’ fragility.
And as the music halts without a sound,
They find their fortunes lost, their hopes unbound.
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