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Hymns of Thayumanavar
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This body of foul odor,
The walking habitat of nine orifices,
The paste that is made of rice,
The fleshy chamber that holdeth
The pot of triple impurity,
The karmaic horde that cometh,
Swelling like the flood of rivers,
The mire teaming with worms -
Will this dog that holdeth on to it
Ever liberation attain?
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