The Chains of Coin, The Wings of Code For thirty years, I walked TradFi’s halls, Where marble gleams and power calls. Central banks, with iron grip, Print money fast, let dignity slip. They craft the cash that buys your bread, Yet leave you stretched, with dreams half-dead. Inflation burns—nine percent and more, Your wages shrink, can’t reach the store. They freeze accounts, they track your pay, In democracy’s name, they’ve lost their way. Article 22, a right so clear, Demands a system we need not fear. But I’ve seen chains, the vulnerable bound, Exploited souls on shaky ground. Working moms, veterans, dreams deferred, Their cries for justice too long unheard. No more, I say—let’s break the mold, With Bitcoin’s fire, a tale retold. A code, a coin, no vault can seize, No king can freeze it, no laws appease. Twenty-one million, a cap so tight, No printer hums in the dead of night. It’s money for plebs, for you and me, A rebel spark to set wealth free. They call it wild, a volatile dream, Yet freedom flows in its digital stream. No bank to block, no fee to sting, A wallet yours, where hope takes wing. For the unbanked seven million strong, Bitcoin sings a redemption song. Lagarde may quake, her power at stake, As markets choose what kings can’t break. Like language born from hearts aligned, Bitcoin’s truth is humankind’s design. Energy fierce, like Norway’s might, Secures the chain through day and night. I’ve walked the old, I see the new, My mission’s clear: to carry you. No soul left bruised by systems cold, No dreams crushed by greed’s tight hold. Join hands, dear plebs, let’s learn, unite, For Blockchain and Bitcoins dawn is our birthright. — Connie Davis, Commerce Sage Empowering All, Turning the Page www.conniedavisspeaks.com