In halls of greed where frantic traders pray,

Doth MicroStrategy chase the Bitcoin fray.

They gorged on dips till coffers ran bone dry,

Leveraged to ruin beneath the crimson sky.

Bold Saylor spake with messianic flame,

“Bitcoin is freedom, and strategy our name!”

The wise ones warned, “This path leads but to tragedy,”

Yet he pressed on with boundless audacity.

Then came the storm, red ruin swift and fell,

MSTR did plunge into the depths of hell.

Holders wept as fortunes turned to dust,

While Saylor mocked them with a memelord's thrust.

Poor wretched STRC, that fickle phantom token,

Did snap its peg and leave its promise broken.

Like faithless lover fleeing into night,

It drifted worthless in the pale moonlight.

O McStrategy! Thou bitter jest of fate,

Once mighty crown now sealed a pauper's state.

For Saylor and his crew, in sorrow's chain,

Now toil at McDonald's, flipping burgers for their gain.

“Wouldst thou like fries with that?” the prophet cries,

As he who preached of empires humbly fries.

The diamond hands that never would surrender

Now mop the floors in greasy, sad surrender.

What fools these crypto mortals be who chase the moon,

With borrowed gold they meet their doom too soon.

In McStrategy the lesson rings most clear:

Great boasts in heaven, yet ruin ever near.