Carry for me, Jack, this pail of water. In the classic tune they tell, you fall. Not today, Jack. Come, the day gets hotter as we wait and, listen, the hill calls us downward. Every time they say you stumble, I clumsily am trailing in your wake, slipping as the rocks beneath us crumble into laughter. Can you hear them make a mockery of us, Jack? Steady, now. Step as if you hate the story told, the way we toil just to fail and how the bucket that could quench our thirst is sold for nothing as they leave you empty-handed and bandaged. Change it, Jack! I just can’t stand it!
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