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作词 : Brel, Buck |
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The bargemen see |
|
Me growing old |
|
I see the bargemen |
|
Aging too |
|
We play the game |
|
Of tom fools |
|
Where the one |
|
Who still is oldest |
|
In my work |
|
Even in summer |
|
He must travel |
|
With eyes clossed |
|
It's not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
The barge men know |
|
My bloated face |
|
They joke with me |
|
That's there mistake |
|
Half sorcerer |
|
Half drunkard |
|
I cast a spell |
|
On all that sings |
|
In my work |
|
In autumn |
|
We gather fruit |
|
And the drowned |
|
It's not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
In his basket |
|
A baby squirms |
|
To watch the fly |
|
On his nose |
|
Mama moans |
|
And time frets |
|
Cabbage sweats |
|
And fires groan |
|
In my work |
|
In winter |
|
We think of the father |
|
Who drowned himself |
|
It's not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
Towards the spring |
|
The barge women |
|
Feign and gloat |
|
From their boat |
|
I'd like their games |
|
But for that war |
|
That he leaves me |
|
Somewhat damaged |
|
In my work |
|
In the spring |
|
One takes the time |
|
To drown self |
|
zuo ci : Brel, Buck |
|
The bargemen see |
|
Me growing old |
|
I see the bargemen |
|
Aging too |
|
We play the game |
|
Of tom fools |
|
Where the one |
|
Who still is oldest |
|
In my work |
|
Even in summer |
|
He must travel |
|
With eyes clossed |
|
It' s not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
The barge men know |
|
My bloated face |
|
They joke with me |
|
That' s there mistake |
|
Half sorcerer |
|
Half drunkard |
|
I cast a spell |
|
On all that sings |
|
In my work |
|
In autumn |
|
We gather fruit |
|
And the drowned |
|
It' s not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
In his basket |
|
A baby squirms |
|
To watch the fly |
|
On his nose |
|
Mama moans |
|
And time frets |
|
Cabbage sweats |
|
And fires groan |
|
In my work |
|
In winter |
|
We think of the father |
|
Who drowned himself |
|
It' s not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
Towards the spring |
|
The barge women |
|
Feign and gloat |
|
From their boat |
|
I' d like their games |
|
But for that war |
|
That he leaves me |
|
Somewhat damaged |
|
In my work |
|
In the spring |
|
One takes the time |
|
To drown self |
|
zuò cí : Brel, Buck |
|
The bargemen see |
|
Me growing old |
|
I see the bargemen |
|
Aging too |
|
We play the game |
|
Of tom fools |
|
Where the one |
|
Who still is oldest |
|
In my work |
|
Even in summer |
|
He must travel |
|
With eyes clossed |
|
It' s not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
The barge men know |
|
My bloated face |
|
They joke with me |
|
That' s there mistake |
|
Half sorcerer |
|
Half drunkard |
|
I cast a spell |
|
On all that sings |
|
In my work |
|
In autumn |
|
We gather fruit |
|
And the drowned |
|
It' s not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
In his basket |
|
A baby squirms |
|
To watch the fly |
|
On his nose |
|
Mama moans |
|
And time frets |
|
Cabbage sweats |
|
And fires groan |
|
In my work |
|
In winter |
|
We think of the father |
|
Who drowned himself |
|
It' s not nothing |
|
Being a lockman |
|
Towards the spring |
|
The barge women |
|
Feign and gloat |
|
From their boat |
|
I' d like their games |
|
But for that war |
|
That he leaves me |
|
Somewhat damaged |
|
In my work |
|
In the spring |
|
One takes the time |
|
To drown self |
