I stir the storm. I hawk the rain.
Let markets break, I’ll reap the gain.
I crash the ship, then spin the wheel,
And sell the wound as time to heal.
This morning, bonds began to slide,
A yield curve drop too steep to hide.
Investors fled, the signs were loud,
Recession warnings in the cloud.
So he paused tariffs, ninety days,
A sleight-of-hand to stall the blaze.
Not peace, not truth, just sugar breath,
To dull the scent of looming death.
“Buy low,” he tweets from gold-plate dens,
While chaos fattens all his friends.
They’ll scoop the wreckage, spin the tale,
And mask the crash behind the sale.
He’ll meme the Fed, then rig the thread,
While homes sink fast in jobless dread.
He’ll blame the cost of bread and meat
On those already in defeat.
The wheel turns red with sweat and fear,
Their echo chamber loud and clear.
They write the rules, then torch the script,
And call it “freedom,” falsely flipped.
But history watches, fierce and near.
The pattern breaks when we draw near.
This time the mask may slip and fall,
If we don’t flinch, if we stand tall.
So tear the curtain, flood the stage.
Let truth reclaim what feeds their rage.
Don’t let this panic buy him grace.
Speak now before he sets the pace.
