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in The end

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There once was a mother who told
Her four boys on a night very cold
To live life to the fullest;
“The very very fullest”

Forty years later, there once was a man
Who traveled and flew to wildsome lands
He wrote back to his friends by mail,
“I’m living life to the very very fullest”

There once was a man, relatively poor
Had a little house, and almost no money
But loved his family and couldn’t ask for more
“I’m living life to the very very fullest”

There once was a man who set sail his heart
He gave up money, family, and a chance at Yale
He did that so, to work on a piece of art
And he’s “living life to the very very fullest”

And then there once was the oldest man
Who owned a mansion, an island, and a fake tan
Not married, no friends, but a hell lot of money
“Oh yes,” he chuckled and grinned when asked,
“I’m living life to the very very fullest”

Then on October 20, the four brothers meet
With their beloved mother, beloved guide
Ashes in the urn, and surrounded by sleet
They tell of their lives, lived to the very very fullest

There once were four brothers on a night very cold
With their mother, in their gloved hands they hold
Who forty years previous had said their goodbyes
Disagreed on life and built four walls.
And wondered truly if they listened after all.

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