Thickle cycle sickle
Thrust through frickle rinkle
And cut short our thick talking crutches
When we cease and wither like a rose
Old hawk honey
As good you thirst in young money
Soon turn sour glaring gray
Fading slowly in disarray
Tussle hustle bustle
Led away like a last day tired muscle
Short of tenacity shock of time
Weaken and weary in the race sublime
Force ways look lose
Once the stronghold door is close
No more home poor stranger host
When we leave say not we are lost
Empty bucket basket
See through loopholes pocket
Just once into the tides of times
And submit a cup full of crime
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