| Gentlemen, please rise
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| In light of why we’re gathered here tonight
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| This is it, though I’m shit with goodbyes
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| Suffice to say, well, I haven’t much time
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| So how I chose and choose
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| To make use of this life allotted me
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| Well you few know and knew
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| And each to played to me burgeoning accessory
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| So I should think it wise
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| In debt to your unseemly sacrifice
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| To see that when I die
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| None of my sorted seeds come to life
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| For me I see no need
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| To catalogue what deeds I may have done
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| If we all agree to keep
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| These terms of my demise unclarified
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| History, she will surely forgive me
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| And history, she will think of me fondly
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| Time was mine
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| I’ve half a mind to just apologize
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| In days less dignified
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| Before I knew what to and not to do
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| Unsure, of course
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| There’s shame in certain things I may have done
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| But shame is not remorse
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| And pandering’s the one thing I cannot afford
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| Measure me in grief
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| Survived in score by prideful progeny
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| And I, though sometimes weak
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| Still shudder to speak these secrets we keep
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| For their sake let me stay
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| Ostensibly the saint I seem to be
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| For now my nose is clean
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| So bury these peculiarities with me
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| History, she will surely forgive me
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| And history, she won’t soon forget me
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| So no cheerful goodbyes
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| In light of why we’re gathered here tonight
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| To you I confide
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| Suffice to say, well, I haven’t much time |