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Fever Major

Intro: An unapologetic paen to self-pity, this was written when I was lying in bed with a fever in Sitges, Spain whilst all of my friends were out enjoying the madness of drumming and fireworks that is the Fiesta Major in August.


The drumming, the drumming, the drumming

The relentless drumming, the unforgiving drumming

The drumming without end.

Which ends. But briefly. I am alone.

The fire, the burn, the fright, the fear

the restless confusion, the overheated delirium

The fever without end.

Which ends. But briefly. I am alone.

Then the fever gives way to the darkest of all

the bottomless boredom whence the dark thoughts come.

The thoughts without end.

Which end. But briefly. I am alone.


The fiesta, the fiesta, the fiesta

The major fiesta, the ancient fiesta

The Fiesta Major never ends

Never ends.

The overfilled glasses, the underscored lines

Bukakke throbbing with sex, prurience and frigidity

The beach bustling with 100 hungry holes and one - if you’re lucky - rigidity

The rank and vile of the sauna - we’re only here for the beer.

And even that barrel is scraping

Yet the party - the party’s still here

Because Festa Major together is forever!

Fever Major alone never ends.

And still the drumming and the drumming and the drumming...

The darkness, the darkest, no dawn.

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