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His flimsy legs are the weak point of the tree
And my steady arm is the handle of the axe
My knuckles being the sharpened end of the weapon
I will swing it once this opponent is clear
And sink into him the edge of the tool
Without a speck of fear
Right when it is most expected of him or anyone
With this in mind
I will get this wood-cutting task done
In half the time
His injured body shall fall as the mighty oak does
And with this rich satisfaction
At my job i will do just fine




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