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    It was in the winter of my fiftieth year
    When it hit me
    I was really alone
    And there wasn't a hell a lot of time left
    Every laugh and touch that I could get
    Became more important
    Strangely, I became more bookish
    And my home and study meant more to me
    As I considered the circumstances of my death
    I wanted to find a balance between joy and dignity
    On my way out
    Above all, I didn't want to take any more shit
    Not from anybody

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