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A Martyred Riddle


Shakeepuddn
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A simple soul I bear my cross

Bound to Father's hand,

Heaven waiting in the loss,

Death upon the land.

On foreign shore my game is war

On others artistry,

My oldest fame is not a game

But dire deeds, you see.

When my world is feeling torpid

Break my bones and sigh,

When salty skirts go billowing

I may just catch your eye.

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