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Men come from clay,
But in naked array.
When east is still gray
Not yet the sun ray
Of the fine day,
They put on cosplay,
On the beach they play
By the Biscay bay.
It is a holiday,
Also their heyday.
They look like stray,
Roaming by railway,
No work and no pay.
Every night they'll lay
On some stacks of hay,
But they are so gay,
Though no food on tray.
They like thus ever to stay.
Their decision'll never sway.
It is just a hearsay,
I am told today.
So nothing you'd say.
Life is just this way. |
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