| Song | At 4 A.M. |
| Artist | Tom Verlaine |
| Album | Flash Light |
| 作曲 : Verlaine | |
| Monotony, cliches. A nervous day? Cafe. They | |
| approach each other as voices, incapable of making | |
| words mean other than what they could mean. It is not | |
| a crisis or moment of self-flattery. There are sometimes | |
| reminders of what she called "the useless life", what | |
| he called "eternity". Wet are the eyes and the smiles. | |
| That is what is remembered presently. Along with the joy | |
| of discovering a new incompetence or abbreviation. | |
| annie's telling me: the crashing waves upon the shore | |
| ...are they telling you they're what you were before? Well, | |
| you can go to sleep just once but you wake up fifteen times. | |
| Annie's tellin me... it's like a factory... cranking out them | |
| parts... all the labors of love sure take a lot of heart | |
| annie's tellin me... l like them trite descriptions she said. | |
| Soft lights revolve on the cracked -up walls. annie's tellin me | |
| no one knows where they come from... it's like a factory. | |
| (...she has ideas... ideas about everything...) Back in that | |
| "factory", annie's tellin me, everyman is king. |
| zuò qǔ : Verlaine | |
| Monotony, cliches. A nervous day? Cafe. They | |
| approach each other as voices, incapable of making | |
| words mean other than what they could mean. It is not | |
| a crisis or moment of selfflattery. There are sometimes | |
| reminders of what she called " the useless life", what | |
| he called " eternity". Wet are the eyes and the smiles. | |
| That is what is remembered presently. Along with the joy | |
| of discovering a new incompetence or abbreviation. | |
| annie' s telling me: the crashing waves upon the shore | |
| ... are they telling you they' re what you were before? Well, | |
| you can go to sleep just once but you wake up fifteen times. | |
| Annie' s tellin me... it' s like a factory... cranking out them | |
| parts... all the labors of love sure take a lot of heart | |
| annie' s tellin me... l like them trite descriptions she said. | |
| Soft lights revolve on the cracked up walls. annie' s tellin me | |
| no one knows where they come from... it' s like a factory. | |
| ... she has ideas... ideas about everything... Back in that | |
| " factory", annie' s tellin me, everyman is king. |