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My first wears my second; my third might be what my first would acquire if he went to sea. Put together my one, two, three, And the belle of New York is the girl for me. What one word am I?
This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town And beats high mountain down.
I totally misread that. The answer is a river, I apologize.
I know a thousand faces, and count the tailed heads, feasting bright upon the eyes, of many who have died. Wielding well a mighty power, who hath but humble stature. Masses fall upon their knees, to scarce behold my only side.
What am I?
« Last edited by exploding typhoon on Aug 21st 2011 »
"We are men of action, lies do not become us." - Westley
"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." - Inigo Montoya
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