The DOGE King and His Swamp
In halls of gold and greed they sat,
Where fools still cheered the loudest rat.
A jester rose, his crown askew,
With painted grin and lies untrue.
A Shiba danced upon his throne,
A coin his scepter, wealth his bone.
“Such riches, wow! The game is mine!
They bark, they rage, yet all is fine.”
His master, bloated, proud, and bold,
With schemes as old as men love gold,
Shook the world with lips of flame,
And made the truth a rigged-up game.
With markets spun and chaos sown,
The Swampfolk knelt before his throne.
They played their parts, they grinned, they lied,
While justice whimpered, cast aside.
He promised walls, he promised fame,
Yet all was shadow, all was game.
The coffers drained, the poor still wept,
While kings and jesters richly slept.
And Doge, the trickster, laughed anew,
As fortunes rose, then crashed in two.
“Oh much concern!” he howled with cheer,
Yet looted blind those held most dear.
Yet as they laughed and drank their fill,
The people stood—cold, waiting, still.
The coins were dust, the memes had died,
And justice lay long cast aside.
But fools still cheer, and kneel, and trust,
Though gold is false, and kings are rust.