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Dearest of thousands, now the time draws near
That with my lines my life must full-stop here.
Cut off thy hairs, and let thy tears be shed
Over my turf when I am buried.
Then for effusions, let none wanting be,
Or other rites that do belong to me;
As love shall help thee, when thou do’st go hence
Unto thy everlasting residence.
   Onoma and Jaymi Swift
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