1of1 The Lord of Max Pain In the kingdom of candles, where the green meets the red, The Lord of Max Pain wakes from his bed. He wears a crown minted from vapor and light, And hunts every moonboy who dreams through the night. He whispers to Bitcoin, “Rise, then retreat,” Moves altcoins like pawns underneath his feet. He paints liquidation wicks on the midnight chart, Then laughs as the traders proclaim, “I knew from the start.” Ethereum trembles, The order books thin, A thousand brave apes prepare to ape in. But the Lord knows the secret the charts cannot say, The market loves hope then takes it away. In galleries glowing with pixels and gold, NFT dreams are minted and sold. A bored ape ascends; a rare punk takes flight Then floor prices vanish before morning light. He walks through the metaverse, silent and tall, Past JPEG empires that promised it all. “Your art is forever,” the marketplace sings While the Lord checks the bids with a merciless grin. Sometimes he smiles and lets markets run A thousand percent before anyone’s done. The timeline erupts: “We are so back!” Until he appears with his final attack. For he is not bearish, nor bullish, nor kind; He is simply the shadow behind every mind. The force that reminds us, when greed starts to soar: There’s always a price and the Lord wants some more. So toast to the candles, the pixels, the chains, To gas fees and memes and magnificent gains. Trade with your wisdom, not dreams of the moon For the Lord of Max Pain is coming soon.