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To sink, into my drink, and to mellow out the world's social bout, is just about the only pleasure I care for. And not a single demeanor could drown my pride, not a washing tide could sink my ship, Wreck and rip, or make me sip another man's drink. Not even a gilded gift would make me blink; But a balloon, to pop, to fizzle, and stop, this lovely daydream. My soul itself would scream. Though, of course you would know, "Forgive & Forget" is my motto. But alas, henceforth, for what it is worth: The skies above shall send litter. Sweet candies shall turn bitter. And below, the mound will shake and sound, 'til gravels' ground and truth is found. Then slowly, assuredly, as time does tick, as trees grow thick, it all becomes pressure-free.
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