The Fever burns, a crimson tide,
The Fever flares, nowhere to hide.
It speaks, it sings, this burning grace,
It is the Fever, time and space.
It speaks, it sings, this burning fire,
It is the Fever, our desire.
The Fever's pulse, a beating drum,
The Fever's call, for everyone.
The ball, our life, a sacred plea,
The ball, our breath, for all to see.
The world alight, with fields of green,
The ball's embrace, a vibrant scene.
It speaks, it sings, this burning grace,
It is the Fever, time and space.
The Fever's pulse, a beating drum,
The Fever's call, for everyone.
From Brazil's fire, to German might,
Italian passion, English light.
Argentina's dance, France's art,
The ball's romance, within the heart.
The Fever's dream, for all to chase,
For all who love, this hallowed space.
It speaks, it sings, this burning grace,
It is the Fever, time and space.
It speaks, it sings, this burning fire,
It is the Fever, our desire.
The Fever's pulse, a beating drum,
The Fever's call, for everyone.
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