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Some call it fate, others call it luck, I'm sorry my friend but your number is up.
You build me up and break me down; I help you move around. My shape is a folded chain, and I have a generic name.
Volcanic blasts, frozen in ash, this city is a glimpse of the past.
A shield in the sky composed of three identical parts.
A godly gift to repay a theft; illness, hardship, and woe, hope remains.
Picked but disliked, it is a daily sight; you pass it by and spread it through the sky.
Held close but not with hands, a leaden heart weighs down a man. Often thought but never spoken, one may guess it but will not be told.
Some call it fate, others call it luck, I'm sorry my friend but your number is up.