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What asks but never answers?
In all the world, none can compare, to this tiny weaver, his deadly cloth so silky and fair.
If a man would carry my burden he would break his back I am not rich But leave silver in my track
Though desert men once called me God, today men call me mad. For I wag my tail when I am angry. And growl when I am glad.
Cycle Cycle Cycle.
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