It’s hidden
And beyond my grasp.
I don't really want it,
Don’t want the responsibility,
Or the ache in my back.
I know that,
According to the law in this place,
It will end up in a museum.
I’d get my name in the paper,
But what good is that?
It’s not mine to mine,
And not mine to dole out,
And not mine at all.
I quit the search
And surrender my shovel
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