| There’s no sound, no one around
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| Half the sun’s gone underground
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| All the dead still hold their heads
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| But their old weeping won’t resound
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| As we drag our western talks
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| Down thousand year old blocks
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| Vesuvius looks ashamed
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| That he ever lost his mind
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| And that people now spend time excavating his rage
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| Kiss my mouth, leave me no doubts
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| With antiquated gestures now
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| There’s no sound, no one around
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| That lurid moon in peeking out
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| And your steps they seem to rhyme
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| So perfectly with mine
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| As we pass through ancient gates
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| And I’m whistling at stray dogs
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| And you’re laughing on my arm
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| Just waiting for the train
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| Out by parallel lines I try to make sense
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| Of that strange pulsing there in my wrist
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| But you don’t bother to guess
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| You’re not confused to be blessed
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| You’re just smiling so thankful to exist |