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Within the last of the tomb Are fresh and quick sand The hairs rough and needed comb Whom the owners sought for a land When bitterness taste like it is from honeycomb Men stood and roll their last band Not of victory but cry of a lost womb Of a child who was at hand Those left behind blasted by a bomb Their remains soon would turn manure sold for few rand Within the last of the tomb Are bodies which testify failure of a magic wand. By J_amaze.