| And the river will rise up | |
| And heal all the scars | |
| On this broken skin | |
| And drown in this cup | |
| And the flies they will flock | |
| And throw into the dock | |
| And listen with a crooked ear | |
| And they cackle and they sneer | |
| And the river will rise up | |
| And the river will rise up | |
| And the matter of murder | |
| Sits on my shoulder | |
| And whispers to me | |
| That I will be free | |
| God Volcano! | |
| Give me my self respect | |
| I plead God | |
| Volcano! This one thing | |
| I can believe | |
| And the river will rise up | |
| And in your lonely dark designs | |
| Feel the cut and scaly rind | |
| The malice and the wicked crimes | |
| Of the sordid daily grind | |
| And the river will rise up | |
| And the words they spit with hate | |
| Will never mitigate | |
| Any semblance of the truth | |
| That's broken or despised * | |
| God Volcano! | |
| Give me my self respect | |
| I plead God | |
| Volcano! This one thing | |
| I can believe | |
| God Volcano! | |
| Bring your flesh right into me | |
| You are the air that | |
| I can breathe |
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