It's time to sing about something so old,
That's been bought without ever being sold;
The words that spurred him as he crawled,
Serving really well to twist his arm;
What was to be his, all over sprawled,
The rap on the knuckles upturned his palm;
Happy dreaming a dream that was never his own.
When the tintinnabulation was about to end,
Sensitized to the rack, he winced;
Seeking to redress,he seemed a fiend,
About to claim the prize,that was now evinced.
Brewed by distaste, alchemy faced disdain,
Not every metal now wanted to turn yellow;
But- voting to amalgamate -the faux pas was traced again,
Instead of every chap wanting to be his own fellow.
Into the fertile minds the seed was sown,
To be dreamt was a dream, without ever being known.
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