He looking down With scorn or pity on the slippery state Of kings, will tread upon the neck of fate.
It took it out of me, though. I'm a rag this morning. They work you too hard, dear.
It took it out of me, though. I'm a rag this morning.
They work you too hard, dear.
What is the point of going down a dead-end road when you know it's not going anywhere?
a backward child
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