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I know the feeling, you got the fever.
And I know it's burning, you're indecision.
So you're sitting there, on the fences where, in the distant air you see cool water.
While you hesitate, blame it on the glare, and you don't prepare for the fire water.
The governor says this is the big one.
So you shut the door and wait while they leave you.
I am a rock deep in the river,
"where is the sun?",
a promise, a whisper.
The crow has it's feet, it's feet on my head,
"you worry too much",
it fills me with lead.
So you say farewell, as the trumpets blow and you're swept away by the flood water. And the fever breaks, but the echoes stay and you sing a song of your own making.
There's no crime in staying still, you say there's logic in the hills that roll like thunder. Now the saints are marching in, now the moon is turning red, with Armstrong's trumpet in your head, the storm is raging. Now it's real, it's been done, blow a kiss and wave goodbye.
It's the last one, it's the last one, take me back. It's the last one, it's the last one I can face. Take me back to the intro.