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One day as I wandered I heard a complaining
I saw an old woman the picture of gloom.
She glared at the mud on her doorstep 'twas raining and this was her wail as she wielded her broom,
Oh, life is at oil and love is at rouble beauty will fade and riches will flee,
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double,
and nothing is as I would wish it to be.
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