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O, how the mighty fall to rise again.

Tell me a story of the greatest man

And I will speak of him no more

Testify to those less fortunate

That all men stain the battlefield

Even from abroad having not taken arms

Deny! They say, and none the wiser.

Old and grey, pathetic miser

With a bald head, now for seven years.

Laugh if you must, at this sage

We all will likewise become with age.

Or perhaps we live forever still

Hill over hill

Filling up my mind and memory

Maiming my magnificent mental masterpiece.

Oh, no, I cannot be certain

When mortal coil burns out

Or time to open the curtain

On stages not yet spoken about.

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