| Song | Sister Self |
| Artist | Alela Diane |
| Album | The Pirate's Gospel |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Menig | |
| That pole isn't growing in my black solid sky | |
| Solid sky | |
| And pirate ships pulled these shoulders back | |
| But in morning slumber I gripped the slender palm of my hand | |
| And I felt the soft of my flesh | |
| And I stared into my sister self | |
| And we was running, running, running | |
| We was climbing, we was fighting | |
| We was breathing fast | |
| Praying please | |
| We were singing | |
| We were dancing | |
| We were clapping | |
| Singing, dancing, clapping | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| Returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| But I've got to hold my own hand | |
| I've got to hold my own hand | |
| And this is my skin I feel | |
| And these are the teeth that I clench | |
| And the hazel of my sight | |
| Plus the colors she wears is mine | |
| O that color she's wearing is mine | |
| And we was running, running, running | |
| We was climbing, we was fighting | |
| We was breathing fast | |
| Praying please | |
| We were singing | |
| We were dancing | |
| We were clapping | |
| Singing, dancing, clapping | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells |
| zuo qu : Menig | |
| That pole isn' t growing in my black solid sky | |
| Solid sky | |
| And pirate ships pulled these shoulders back | |
| But in morning slumber I gripped the slender palm of my hand | |
| And I felt the soft of my flesh | |
| And I stared into my sister self | |
| And we was running, running, running | |
| We was climbing, we was fighting | |
| We was breathing fast | |
| Praying please | |
| We were singing | |
| We were dancing | |
| We were clapping | |
| Singing, dancing, clapping | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| Returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| But I' ve got to hold my own hand | |
| I' ve got to hold my own hand | |
| And this is my skin I feel | |
| And these are the teeth that I clench | |
| And the hazel of my sight | |
| Plus the colors she wears is mine | |
| O that color she' s wearing is mine | |
| And we was running, running, running | |
| We was climbing, we was fighting | |
| We was breathing fast | |
| Praying please | |
| We were singing | |
| We were dancing | |
| We were clapping | |
| Singing, dancing, clapping | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells |
| zuò qǔ : Menig | |
| That pole isn' t growing in my black solid sky | |
| Solid sky | |
| And pirate ships pulled these shoulders back | |
| But in morning slumber I gripped the slender palm of my hand | |
| And I felt the soft of my flesh | |
| And I stared into my sister self | |
| And we was running, running, running | |
| We was climbing, we was fighting | |
| We was breathing fast | |
| Praying please | |
| We were singing | |
| We were dancing | |
| We were clapping | |
| Singing, dancing, clapping | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| Returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| But I' ve got to hold my own hand | |
| I' ve got to hold my own hand | |
| And this is my skin I feel | |
| And these are the teeth that I clench | |
| And the hazel of my sight | |
| Plus the colors she wears is mine | |
| O that color she' s wearing is mine | |
| And we was running, running, running | |
| We was climbing, we was fighting | |
| We was breathing fast | |
| Praying please | |
| We were singing | |
| We were dancing | |
| We were clapping | |
| Singing, dancing, clapping | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells | |
| We were returning to the hills | |
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells |