Who rests from their labours only to sleep,

thankful the day has been forgettable?

Enslaved, who dreams to reach the heights-

his pillow, this song, remains pitiful.

The song of any man, old Adam's

song: a tired tale quite unaccountable.

Let the penniless artist pluck the tune:

scraps of beauty so invaluable.

As men dream to play at octaves higher

all...

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