A beckoned discourse of illusion-ed time's immortal verse...
Can for no apparent reason, transgress thy meaning's horrid, worse.
Belittle thy petitioned gait...
Mishap's thy position, as arrived too late.
Offed chance, we consume thy brother's law...
Be bitten, we, our maliced paw.
Many times we concern no longer...
Hope thy reckonings, hath no wronger.
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