Inspired by Adam Livingston on X:
The Ballad of the Bond-Grave Looter
In a land of paper, where promises dwell,
A bond-market behemoth, $147 trillion fell.
A corpse it lies, in a crypt of deceit,
Its breath but a wheeze where no heart doth beat.
Yet hark! From the shadows, a glint doth arise—
Bitcoin, the grave-looter, with fire in its eyes.
Sovereign scrolls and corporate tomes,
Municipal murmurs in marble-domed homes,
All gasp on the drip of a morphine lie—
“Principal’s safe!” cries the banker’s high cry.
But 2025 looms, with $17 trillion to scrawl,
No stimulus this, but a desperate thrall.
Each bond a new pump, turned to eleven,
A Ponzi’s last waltz ‘neath a faltering heaven.
Yields wail their dirge in a dissonant choir:
The ten-year at 4.6, aflame with desire,
The thirty-year breaches, at 5 it doth scream,
A ghost of 2007, a pre-crash dream.
No cycle, this ruin, but a structural knell,
Demand’s final curtain, where no buyers dwell.
Bloomberg’s grim tally, a 1.3 gain,
While CPI sneers at 3.2’s disdain.
Real wealth dissolves in a taxable jest,
A privilege paid for a corpse’s unrest.
Foreign hands recoil from the rot they behold,
A 30-year auction, scarce 59 percent sold—
A global no-confidence, carved in the stone,
The bond-king’s dominion now reigns all alone.
Uncle Sam’s ledger, a trillion in toll,
Interest, the third guest at his fiscal soul.
A third mortgage taken to pay card’s cruel jest,
His coffers a hollow, where vultures invest.
Duration’s dread specter, 6.3 years it spans,
A 100-point shock, and $9 trillion disbands.
Mark-to-model falters, mark-to-coroner calls,
As debt’s demolition derby on black ice forestalls.
By 2028, forty percent must renew,
A wall not of stone, but of ruin to rue.
Roll at five percent? ‘Tis fiscal despair,
A suicide pact in the market’s cold air.
Repo fails climb, and the yen-basis frays,
Japanese pensions cast Treasuries away.
Collateral’s plumbing coughs blood in the night,
A global malaise where no ledger burns bright.
Yet Bitcoin, unyielding, $4.9 trillion it clears,
No clearinghouse falters, no settlement fears.
Stablecoins surge, $12 trillion they glide,
Thrice Visa’s vast volume, on freedom’s swift tide.
In ten minutes final, its chain doth abide,
While fiat’s frail paper in agony cried.
Bitcoin’s shield strengthens as prices ascend,
The bond market’s credence with yields doth descend.
One asset grows mighty, reflexive, and bold,
The other self-charred in a pyre of old gold.
Five years unfold: bonds flat, a zero they score,
Bitcoin’s fierce 68, a comet’s wild soar.
Sharpe’s cold measure, bonds limp at 0.1,
While Bitcoin’s 1.6 laughs ‘neath the sun.
A Monte Carlo dance, ten thousand paths weave:
Swap bonds for Bitcoin, and wealth shall not grieve.
A ten percent shift doubles fortune’s delight,
Equal risk, yet bonds bear the fatter fright.
No upside in paper, no memes to ignite,
The corpse out-benched by a code’s boundless flight.
In this land of paper, where shadows decay,
Bitcoin, the looter, claims night for its day.
No morphine, no Ponzi, no lie to sustain,
A chain forged in freedom, where trust shall remain.
So sing of the bond-grave, its requiem clear,
And Bitcoin’s bright anthem, forever to steer.
