The answer, my friend
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Who knows where the time goes*
With your advancing age the decades flash by, faster and faster, like the clickety-clack of the wheels of a tumbril on the cobblestones, as the driver whips the horses into a gallop, anxious to reach Place du Trône-Renversé before night falls.
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Like sands through the hourglass
Layers of sandstone and shale and slate form my bedrock.
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