Ponds are in the country of sin,
Loads of partners of crime,
Salt in the waters of slime,
Just in the end it is kin.
Carts are managed by tin,
Avoid the lady of time,
Afford a payment of the same,
Forever, the carts are folding in.
But when does the folly stop,
If it did help me not,
If it was sorry for itself?
When the foe was the top,
Where he gave us a lot
Of the ten minutes enough.
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