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Ah such sweet vintage it be, of those wrinkles through time I see.

Lift thine solemn smile, let it be genuine not guile, least ye must first sever, what work thee endeavor.

Oh how ye slave to merely strive, yet tis be freedom that thee deprive, be it me of this bondage chain, I'd rather be blind or slain.

Perhaps by the time it be too late, ye shall see of your dismal fate, yet if ye were first to age where glee reside, ye would cackled instead of cried