A tempest brewed, a future, darkly swayed.

The sun once golden, veiled by shadows deep,

As whispers of a downfall start to seep.

Bulls, once strong, with horns held high and proud,

Now face the storm, their spirits crushed and bowed.

The futures that were bright, now torn and frayed,

As dreams of wealth and glory slowly fade.

The skies turn crimson, blood-red streaks unfurl,

A prophecy of doom, in chaos swirl.

The bears awake, their hunger uncontrolled,

A feast of shattered dreams they shall uphold.

Through the wreckage of the bulls' defeat,

The bears will roam, their victory complete.

With every broken horn and fallen dream,

They'll feed upon the echoes of a scream.

The markets weep, as green turns into red,

A haunting lullaby for the bulls that bled.

For in this world, where bulls and bear contend,

It's puts that will guide us in the end.