Hey $ALPACA

In towers tall, the interest climbs,

Where shorts align with borrowed time.

Above, the price — a lofty crest,

Yet funds flow strong, with bullish zest.

The book lies bare in hollowed lines,

A desert void of price confines.

Where whispers move the bid and ask,

And shadows take the market’s mask.

For those who bet the price would fall,

The odds now tilt, if not appall.

With funding winds against their sail,

Their ship may sway, their gamble fail.

A market stretched on brittle thread,

Where lightest spark turns calm to dread.

Such balance tips on razor's edge—

Expect the storm beyond the hedge.