Time for the final bout. Rows of deserted houses: all our stable mates are highway bound.
Give us our measly sum: getting the air inside my lungs is heavenly.

We're starting out with nothing but crippling doubt.
We'll rest easy (justified)

I've suffered a swift defeat. I'll endure countless repeats.
The gift of memory is an awful curse,
with age it just gets much worse.

But I won't mind.

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