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Men build castles in the air;
Death builds tombs below us,
We've scarce begun to live, it seems,
When death is then bestowed us.
It is a race we often lose;
Death panting by our heels,
We thinking we can pick and choose;
Imagining free will.
We get to pick our place of rest,
And what on stone gets riven;
Don't forget that ticking clock
Before your life's too driven.
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