A Song Sung and Never Heard

What a waste it is
To never speak of things one saw
Or people one loved

For one to live and die
And leave nothing of themselves
For the world to feel and touch

What would it matter to me
When I am gone
Never to have used the gold
I so carefully hid

And won’t it be a mighty shame
For that very treasure to be bound
Under a spell whose chanting
Only I know of?

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