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Iron roof, glass walls, burns and burns and never falls.
Though I wander the earth, I am no longer here. I am pale and I chill everyone near. Who am I?
You throw away the outside, eat the inside, then throw away the inside. What is it?
You seek it out, when your hunger is ripe. It sits on four legs, and smokes a pipe.
A prickly house a little host contains; The pointed weapons keep back from pains, So he, unarmed, safe in his fort remains.
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