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Riddle:
Death and taxes; taxes and death----- They're sure to be with us, until our last breath. So, try to save money-----How much can you save? They'll nickel us and dime us-----Right down to the grave. And now that you've heard my negative chant, tell me the man's name you hear in my rant.
Riddle:
I cannot be felt, seen or touched; Yet I can be found in everybody; My existence is always in debate; Yet I have my own style of music. What Am I?
Riddle:
I have no mind or a soul. I've been eternally attached since man's dawn. My kind disappear on and off, to everyone I accompany them to their death, and buried with them, then I hide away when the casket shuts. What am I?