Needless Things: Market Manipulators

They move in shadows made of gold, With tongues of silk and hearts ice-cold, Their fingers tug invisible strings, Directing fate like puppet kings.

They smile behind their tailored lies, A serpent's charm in human guise, Numbers dance at their command, While honest hands still toil the land.

Graphs rise like towers built on sand, Crashing down at their demand, They profit off each desperate plea, Then sell the cure for their own disease.

They call it business, call it trade, A game where souls are bought and played, Yet in their eyes, you’ll see the proof— Markets bend to well-dressed truth.

But every scheme they set in flight, Breeds ghosts that haunt them in the night, For even kings in suits of sin Forget—the house collects in the end. NNN