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Click, clack, the cases spin,
Dreams of knives lie deep within.
Each key turned, a glimmer of hope,
Yet every roll, the same old trope.
Purple, pink, but mostly grey,
The dull blues mock in their array.
"Surely this time," the opener prays,
Yet the golden gleam forever stays.
Hours spent, the balance drained,
Chasing odds that can’t be tamed.
A Karambit’s curve, a Butterfly’s flight,
Forever beyond the screen’s dim light.
Friends all laugh, "Just buy the skin!"
But that’s not where the thrill begins.
It’s not the knife, but the chase, you see,
The chance to rewrite destiny.
But nights grow long, the wallet thin,
The cases pile, the losses win.
And still they click, with fire in eyes,
Chasing dreams in the digital skies.
Oh, case opener, heed this tale,
The knives you seek may not prevail.
Yet in your quest, don’t lose your way,
For games are meant for joy—not dismay.