566 A Dying Tiger — moaned for Drink — I hunted all the Sand — I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand — His Mighty Balls — in death were thick — But searching — I could see A Vision on the Retina Of Water — and of me — `Twas not my blame — who sped too slow — `Twas not his blame — who died While I was reaching him — But `twas — the fact that He was dead —SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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