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And so they set about their task
To find out, what is out there,
Indubitably,
And to present the content unchanged in all but form
The Pale Unsatisfied Ones work day and night
Trying to form themselves into a perfect piece of wax
To acquire, without blemish, the perfect impression
Of what lies out there
And what will happen when they finish,
When they drive out all error,
And complete their monument to non-existence?

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