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Balls, and balls, and balls, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty balls. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his balls upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying balls. |
# ¿ Oct 21, 2023 01:50 |
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# ¿ May 17, 2024 18:34 |