| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - y were, like a glass bokken*,He picked up his dreams off the floor,only to find a closed door,Kicked out of his home, a bum on the streets,he still dreamed, coming along money was a treat,He dreamed of a house in paradise,With others, he played games of dice,Eventually did he die, old John Steemer,They wrote on his tombstone here lies the great homeless dreamer
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