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.
FEVER MAJOR
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.
FESTA MAJOR
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.
