Song | Emily Shore 1819-1839 |
Artist | The Handsome Family |
Album | Milk and Scissors |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Sparks, Sparks | |
She'd been coughing up blood | |
Since the dogwoods bloomed | |
Seventeen that spring | |
And confined to her room | |
At night her heart | |
Pounded holes in her chest | |
Death, like a bird | |
Was building its nest | |
She'd laughed at the graveyard | |
On one sip of wine | |
And kept a pet duck | |
Till the cat crushed its spine | |
But, waltzing one night | |
In a red velvet dress | |
She noticed a whistling down | |
In her chest | |
Propped up on pillows | |
She watched the snow fall | |
Trying to picture | |
An end to it all | |
By spring there'd be picnics | |
And merry-go-rounds | |
But she'd be nothing | |
But bones in the ground | |
And so | |
On the last day of her short life | |
Emily called for her father's | |
Penknife | |
She sawed at her head | |
Till the floor pooled with hair | |
And braided a watch chain for father | |
(Mother) | |
To wear |
zuo ci : Sparks, Sparks | |
She' d been coughing up blood | |
Since the dogwoods bloomed | |
Seventeen that spring | |
And confined to her room | |
At night her heart | |
Pounded holes in her chest | |
Death, like a bird | |
Was building its nest | |
She' d laughed at the graveyard | |
On one sip of wine | |
And kept a pet duck | |
Till the cat crushed its spine | |
But, waltzing one night | |
In a red velvet dress | |
She noticed a whistling down | |
In her chest | |
Propped up on pillows | |
She watched the snow fall | |
Trying to picture | |
An end to it all | |
By spring there' d be picnics | |
And merrygorounds | |
But she' d be nothing | |
But bones in the ground | |
And so | |
On the last day of her short life | |
Emily called for her father' s | |
Penknife | |
She sawed at her head | |
Till the floor pooled with hair | |
And braided a watch chain for father | |
Mother | |
To wear |
zuò cí : Sparks, Sparks | |
She' d been coughing up blood | |
Since the dogwoods bloomed | |
Seventeen that spring | |
And confined to her room | |
At night her heart | |
Pounded holes in her chest | |
Death, like a bird | |
Was building its nest | |
She' d laughed at the graveyard | |
On one sip of wine | |
And kept a pet duck | |
Till the cat crushed its spine | |
But, waltzing one night | |
In a red velvet dress | |
She noticed a whistling down | |
In her chest | |
Propped up on pillows | |
She watched the snow fall | |
Trying to picture | |
An end to it all | |
By spring there' d be picnics | |
And merrygorounds | |
But she' d be nothing | |
But bones in the ground | |
And so | |
On the last day of her short life | |
Emily called for her father' s | |
Penknife | |
She sawed at her head | |
Till the floor pooled with hair | |
And braided a watch chain for father | |
Mother | |
To wear |