| When he walks from the consul at sunset
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| Barely remembers his name
|
| Walk is a little unsteady, sadly
|
| But he knows most of all that he’s living beneath the volcano
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| Won’t be so many more days
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| Isn’t much time and it’s gathering darkness, my friend
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| He’s been going too far in his drinking
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| Running a little too fat
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| Eyelids becoming so heavy, sadly
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| But he tries not to sleep while he’s living beneath the volcano
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| Won’t be so many more days
|
| Isn’t much time and it’s gathering darkness, my friend
|
| Though the fireflies laugh in the dusklight
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| It’s the Festival of Death
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| Crowd is all laughter, it’s hollow, sadly
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| They may kill death tonight, but they still live beneath the volcano
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| Won’t be so many more days
|
| Isn’t much time and it’s gathering darkness, my friend |