masks on, candles low, the routers breathe;
we chart a network state beneath the wreath.
no paper crowns—sovereign stacks instead,
our law: a hash that outlives kings when dead.

we seed the ground with merkle roots of trust,
the old decrees collapse to audit-dust.
genesis blocks hum softly in the floor,
a quiet mempool waiting at the door.

speak gently: onion routes, mixnets, cover rain;
let metadata starve, deny the chain.
our vows are multisig, our time is proof,
zk for truth that doesn’t bare the roof.

no roll call here—just keys and human sight,
stealth addresses flicker in the night.
we quorum not by noise but signal thin,
to fork the future, merge the better bin.

air-gapped hearts, cold storage for the flame,
a whispered seed phrase none can frame.
the fifth’s a port—step through, uncloak your doubt:
we’ll build a world they cannot root or route.