A poem.
In his hat he slept and ate
Never too shy to clean his plate
The hat it spoke more words than he
The hat was large, it gave him glee
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Under the hat there was so much
So many secrets, so much to touch
He stood there in thought, a feeling he had
Did this hat look good? Or did it make him look bad?
His name is Nic Cage, but he won't be locked up
He must run free, he can't be corrupt
The hat is what he needs, to be the man that he is
Grey, large, round and warm, and yet, he still looks so mis
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