This spell is old
its virtue all but gone
and what I'm muttering
is neither poem nor song
And what I've been brewing's
a check I dare not cash
and so so sick
of the same old hash
I can check out
It'll come back tomorrow
and even I'm embarassed
to call the thing sorrow
but it's a weight to be sure
and whether time will tell
is a crystal ball clouded
impervious to any spell
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