
When we die, one of us is going to look very, very silly. But there's still a chance I might be able to explain to someone that I backed the wrong horse. Who are you going to talk to?
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Only when the last tree Has been cut down And the last river Has dried to a trickle Will man finally realise That we cannot eat money And reciting old proverbs Makes you sound like a twat. Banksy.
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