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List to me old Omar,
of whence you come and go;
that of which you had no ken,
but dearly longed to know.
I'll turn a few old pages,
the lesson for to see
beyond sans wine, and dust to dust;
beyond the temporal tree.

You wondered what the vintners buy
with that from which they sell,
that ever could be quite as good,
and do the work so well.
There is another vine you see,
much sweeter than the brew;
who's roots go deeper into truth,
and lift your mind anew.

So many doors you entered
and tallied there so long;
but n'er a one there told you of
the singer and the song.
So stay a while yet longer
while I tell of what I know;
and the swan-song of my story,
of whence we come and go.

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