252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I`m used to that— But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet— And I tip—drunken— Let no Pebble—smile— `Twas the New Liquor— That was all! Power is only Pain— Stranded, thro` Discipline, Till Weights—will hang— Give Balm—to Giants— And they`ll wilt, like Men— Give Himmaleh— They`ll Carry—Him!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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