Come gather ‘round, friends, to a tale of our time, Of Sam Bankman-Freed and his empire of crime. How billions in crypto collapsed on a dime On the night FTX met its grave. November the ninth, twenty-twenty-two’s chill, Binance declared war with a sell order’s will— The price fell like stone, yet claims echoed still— “Funds are safe!” swore the king on his screen. Oh, the code was a lie, friends, the vaults had been drained, Alameda’s eight billion left ledgers bloodstained. Pour a drink for the good that their fraud has defamed— To the night all our trust was unmade. For years, Alameda—his hedge fund next door— Drained client cash through a backdoor ignored. Secured with their tokens where they print the score— “Risk models are sound!” he’d proclaim But deep in the spreadsheets, cell D-12 still bled, Negatives surged where the margins were wed. “Liquidation’s a risk!” the CFO’s dread— Yet the audits were in on the game In Nassau’s glass towers, the coders raced fate, A backdoor bled billions just stalling the date. “Plug the hole with C's money” the team cried too late— Binance walked, and the dominoes fell. Oh, the code was a lie, friends, the vaults had been drained, Alameda’s eight billion left ledgers bloodstained. Pour a drink for the good that their fraud has defamed— To the night all our trust was unmade. Do-gooders, investors, their sun-bleached estates, All shattered by bankruptcy’s cold, grinding gates, “Effective Altruism” — greed’s twisted bait— Now the courts only tally in chains Let this hymn haunt the halls where the traders convene: “No math can outrun the morals unseen. For code without conscience is death dressed in green— And the next fragile god’s built on lies.”
