Where we'll hide and not be found
The immense amount of heat
Is clouding all the sound
They seem to always say
Lightning never will strike twice
What do you purpose on the third time?
Now, here we are, left with unsatisfied thirst
The molten rock seems to become a vice
The choking of our lungs and the cracking of our spines
Might I write a ballad, a sonnet, upon this inflamed chair
Knowing that the gods won't leave me here
Pliny, can't you see?
That the mere disobedience saved you
But, not for eternity
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