Don’t Get Burnt

Vlad the Impaler, resurrected his campaign, 

With needles, instead of spikes,

I sat at home, deep in thought,

Some others sat fishing for Likes.

—–

Away from the toil, with time to think, 

My thoughts did stray into holes, 

The future looked bleak,

We were told not to speak,

And were squealed on by collaborating Moles.

—–

Revelations appeared, and my thoughts anodised,

The fraud that we lived through revealing,

Not questioning life, not verifying all,

Leaves your future well opened for stealing.

—–

In the pit of hell, where man does toil, 

His life and sweat taxed to hell.

Decades of work, for an empty prize, 

He’s a defeated empty shell.

—–

The pension once promised, inflated away,

Retirement plans astray.

 The view from the bottom, it ain’t no fun,

There must be a better way.

—–

So I started to read, researched then decided,

To choose Satoshi’s way. 

Please, don’t get burnt.