Fiat Father

Within the hollow promises, akin to skeletal embraces, lies a burdensome weight of despair. A child, immersed in the same unnatural golden aura, Resembling a colossal Bitcoin gem clutched in the crucified Jesus' skeletal hands, Stares at a decaying god with emerald wings. This child, the emerging symbol of a new era, Reaches out, not for solace, but for understanding. What whispers does the fallen deity offer in his ear? Is this a twisted baptism, or a chilling prophecy of a future where humanity worships the cold, hard cryptocurrency?