作曲 : Finch, Jones | |
Running to the station | |
And you're feeling just like | |
Ray Liotta | |
Eyes are blacker than your shades | |
You're wearing pretty thin | |
Tearing through the crowd ' | |
Cause you won't wait | |
And you can't face a weekend | |
Staring at the ceiling | |
The walls are closing in | |
Life's too slow | |
So you run away | |
And you know | |
Life's too slow | |
Turn into the market | |
And you catch him on the stairs | |
Man, you kept me waiting | |
And it's giving me the fear | |
He takes you 'round the corner | |
And he passes you the gear | |
You bitch about the money | |
He says that's the cost of living | |
And life's too slow | |
I'll have you run away | |
And you know | |
You can run away | |
Back into the open | |
And you're feeling kind of nervous | |
Wanna get there quick | |
So get a cab | |
Rushing for the door | |
It seems you're never gonna get there | |
Now you're sitting again without your friend | |
You're looking in the mirror but it's not at your reflection | |
And a hit between the eyes starts your weekend | |
You're looking in the mirror but it's not at your reflection | |
And a hit between the eyes starts your weekend |
zuo qu : Finch, Jones | |
Running to the station | |
And you' re feeling just like | |
Ray Liotta | |
Eyes are blacker than your shades | |
You' re wearing pretty thin | |
Tearing through the crowd ' | |
Cause you won' t wait | |
And you can' t face a weekend | |
Staring at the ceiling | |
The walls are closing in | |
Life' s too slow | |
So you run away | |
And you know | |
Life' s too slow | |
Turn into the market | |
And you catch him on the stairs | |
Man, you kept me waiting | |
And it' s giving me the fear | |
He takes you ' round the corner | |
And he passes you the gear | |
You bitch about the money | |
He says that' s the cost of living | |
And life' s too slow | |
I' ll have you run away | |
And you know | |
You can run away | |
Back into the open | |
And you' re feeling kind of nervous | |
Wanna get there quick | |
So get a cab | |
Rushing for the door | |
It seems you' re never gonna get there | |
Now you' re sitting again without your friend | |
You' re looking in the mirror but it' s not at your reflection | |
And a hit between the eyes starts your weekend | |
You' re looking in the mirror but it' s not at your reflection | |
And a hit between the eyes starts your weekend |
zuò qǔ : Finch, Jones | |
Running to the station | |
And you' re feeling just like | |
Ray Liotta | |
Eyes are blacker than your shades | |
You' re wearing pretty thin | |
Tearing through the crowd ' | |
Cause you won' t wait | |
And you can' t face a weekend | |
Staring at the ceiling | |
The walls are closing in | |
Life' s too slow | |
So you run away | |
And you know | |
Life' s too slow | |
Turn into the market | |
And you catch him on the stairs | |
Man, you kept me waiting | |
And it' s giving me the fear | |
He takes you ' round the corner | |
And he passes you the gear | |
You bitch about the money | |
He says that' s the cost of living | |
And life' s too slow | |
I' ll have you run away | |
And you know | |
You can run away | |
Back into the open | |
And you' re feeling kind of nervous | |
Wanna get there quick | |
So get a cab | |
Rushing for the door | |
It seems you' re never gonna get there | |
Now you' re sitting again without your friend | |
You' re looking in the mirror but it' s not at your reflection | |
And a hit between the eyes starts your weekend | |
You' re looking in the mirror but it' s not at your reflection | |
And a hit between the eyes starts your weekend |