Figurative Language

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I’ve told you a million times to clean your room!

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all,

Time is money.

Why, this country is a shining city on a hill.

Beautiful World of new, superb Birth, that rises to my eyes, Like a limitless golden cloud, filling the western sky;

Thanks to John my car is now as clean as a whistle.

This bread is as dry as a bone.

Alright, the sky misses the sun at night.