Song | This Is Not Love |
Artist | Jethro Tull |
Album | BBC Radio 1 Live in Concert |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Anderson | |
Winds howled. rains spit down. | |
All these nights playing precious games. | |
Cheap hotel in some seaboard town | |
Closed down for the winter and whispered names. | |
Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea | |
Snap our heels half-heartedly | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. | |
No, this is not love. | |
Empty drugstore postcards freeze | |
Sunburst images of summers gone. | |
Think i see us in these promenade days | |
Before we learned october's song. | |
Out on the headland, one gale-whipped tree; | |
Curious, head bent to see. | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. | |
Down to the sad south, smokey plumes | |
Mark that real world city home. | |
Broken spells and silent gloom | |
Ooze from that concrete honeycomb. | |
Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea | |
Snapped our heels half-heartedly | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. |
zuo ci : Anderson | |
Winds howled. rains spit down. | |
All these nights playing precious games. | |
Cheap hotel in some seaboard town | |
Closed down for the winter and whispered names. | |
Puppydog waves on a big moon sea | |
Snap our heels halfheartedly | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. | |
No, this is not love. | |
Empty drugstore postcards freeze | |
Sunburst images of summers gone. | |
Think i see us in these promenade days | |
Before we learned october' s song. | |
Out on the headland, one galewhipped tree | |
Curious, head bent to see. | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. | |
Down to the sad south, smokey plumes | |
Mark that real world city home. | |
Broken spells and silent gloom | |
Ooze from that concrete honeycomb. | |
Puppydog waves on a big moon sea | |
Snapped our heels halfheartedly | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. |
zuò cí : Anderson | |
Winds howled. rains spit down. | |
All these nights playing precious games. | |
Cheap hotel in some seaboard town | |
Closed down for the winter and whispered names. | |
Puppydog waves on a big moon sea | |
Snap our heels halfheartedly | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. | |
No, this is not love. | |
Empty drugstore postcards freeze | |
Sunburst images of summers gone. | |
Think i see us in these promenade days | |
Before we learned october' s song. | |
Out on the headland, one galewhipped tree | |
Curious, head bent to see. | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. | |
Down to the sad south, smokey plumes | |
Mark that real world city home. | |
Broken spells and silent gloom | |
Ooze from that concrete honeycomb. | |
Puppydog waves on a big moon sea | |
Snapped our heels halfheartedly | |
And how come you know better than me | |
That this is not love. |