beaches make the sand white
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make the sand all romantic and shit
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palm trees, branches, imagine them
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green light and shining with pride
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oh arrogant island being buried in humility
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like the beaches were buried in ash
|
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who will remember you now
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billows and billows see the smoke rise
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smoke stack for every sin
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but did they believe that
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at the center of the island was a volcano oh no
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oh no
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who will remember you now
|
you're dead and gone
|
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we came here on a plane
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just a couple of scientists
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among the ruins and remains
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this island could have been saved
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but some people just choose death
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and can't see a way out
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till their bones are all that's left
|
their chests were hollowed out
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but some people never know,
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too caught up in the beautiful
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but their hearts a volcano
|
|
-----------------
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Speaker For The Dead
|
Gatsby's American Dream |