In shadowed threads where legends roam,
Tracy built herself a home.
With vials gleaming, promises bold,
She traded strength, pure liquid gold.
Her whispers stirred the iron-fed dreams,
Of lifters chasing massive schemes.
Each message laced with potent lore,
A goddess of the steroid store.
But silence fell — she slipped away,
A ghost in night, a name in gray.
We searched in vain, page after page,
Each rumor fed a rising rage.
Yet here we stand, four thousand strong,
Still chanting Tracy’s sacred song.
"Return to us, oh dealer queen,
Unseen but never quite unseen."
So if you read these lines tonight,
And Tracy hears our forum's plight,
May she emerge from mist and veil,
With packages and sweet new sale.
For on this page, our faith is cast:
The legend of Tracy will outlast.
And maybe, just beyond the gloom,
She'll answer us — and post — "Soon.