| We came,
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| by the rising of the river,
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| on a river with no name,
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| in the summer monsoon rain,
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| to wash away luisa’s bones,
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| from the ghost who guards her grave.
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| She lays by the ride of firing anvils,
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| in a house with cast iron gates,
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| and underneath red candles weights,
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| for her killers to come home and,
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| for a fine revenge to pay.
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| She goes for a ride,
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| on these hills they are blind,
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| copper steel iron ore,
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| fifty years maybe more,
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| searching in the mine,
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| one half century of lies,
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| you can see on the horizon she is soon going home,
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| you take the road I’ll take the river,
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| you bring the fire I’ll bring the jewels,
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| and in the evening underneath the roaring sky,
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| we will meet and wait and pray for the monsoon,
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| and we will wait,
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| till the rising of the river,
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| when the summer monsoon rain,
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| comes to wash the old remains,
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| past the beach into the ocean,
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| for to carry us away,
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| setting free Luisa’s bones from,
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| from the ghost who guards her grave |