I long to try my hand at perfect art
Perhaps a thousand hours of elbow grease
Will simulate the master's quiet heart
And thus alone I sculpt a wondrous beast
To dominate the common man's delight
So if a one moves westerly, or east
He cannot circumvent my line of sight
Adorning every traveler's décor
Will be the lovely Marianne's goodbye
As if he'd ever want for something more
Than this precision tour-de-force reply
The melody's a message that I send
To geniuses who cannot make a friend
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