The rulers mock and the bankers sneer,

“The people’s money? A fool’s dream.”

Yet year by year, block by block,

Bitcoin does not yield.

They print, and Bitcoin rises.

They tax, and Bitcoin moves.

They ban, and Bitcoin thrives.

They fight, yet Bitcoin does not fight back—

it simply grows.

At first, they laugh.

Then, they fear.

Then, they buy.

For money is not asserted by decree,

but by the will of the people.

It is not dictated from the throne,

but chosen in the market.

And when a better money appears,

the world converges.

Slowly at first, then all at once.

The wise see the writing on the wall.

The proud resist and are left behind.

For to join, one must pass through the narrow gate,

shedding ego, forsaking control.

Sound money bows to no man,

and those who would hold it

must first hold themselves to its truth.

And so, the kings come not as masters,

but as followers.

Not to conquer, but to surrender.

They wield the power of regulation,

but their hands reach for the ledger.

They still wear the robes of rulers,

but their wealth now rests in the people’s vault.

With every sat they stack,

their portfolio rises,

and their advantage falls.

With every bitcoin they acquire,

they tighten the noose on fiat’s reign.

We did not beg them to join us.

We did not need their approval.

We simply built,

and they could not ignore what we built.

For in the end, the game is set,

the outcome written in stars,

flowing naturally from the incentives.

And when the fiat lords

bow before the orange sun,

not in power, but in admission,

the world will know—

We didn’t need to beat them.

They joined us.