Song | Maroondah Reservoir |
Artist | Augie March |
Album | Sunset Studies |
作曲 : Richards | |
To be, | |
A bee, a moth. | |
Four wings spread for the soft last touch | |
Of glory sun, | |
Remembering blood plums and lips and lemons - | |
One hundred different suns | |
In a hundred different heavens. | |
Spied from a rowboat - | |
Stroke, nought is spoken, | |
Before you know it, the spell is broken, | |
You might wonder where you are, | |
Floating on the reservoir. | |
I have counted the notes | |
We landed here not many years ago | |
And it was not a pretty song that we composed: | |
La, la, la, the early bird he knows, | |
You hang from the cherry bough | |
When you're lichen yourself, and leave - | |
The cold cold scent of stone and mulch, | |
The great stone wall to stave the rush, | |
To think that peace might be too much, | |
Waiting for that giant touch... | |
The lake... the fir-fringed lake - | |
Placid and ample, birded, breezed and dappled | |
Through the mountain break, | |
Through the mountain break, | |
A moment take, a moment, a moment... | |
You might wonder where you are, | |
Perched up on the reservoir, | |
Adolf in the white hotel, | |
All this time we've been in hell, | |
You might wonder where you are, | |
Perched above the reservoir, | |
Luis of the lake retire, | |
Before they set the lake on fire | |
Before they set the lake on fire | |
Before they set the lake on fire |
zuò qǔ : Richards | |
To be, | |
A bee, a moth. | |
Four wings spread for the soft last touch | |
Of glory sun, | |
Remembering blood plums and lips and lemons | |
One hundred different suns | |
In a hundred different heavens. | |
Spied from a rowboat | |
Stroke, nought is spoken, | |
Before you know it, the spell is broken, | |
You might wonder where you are, | |
Floating on the reservoir. | |
I have counted the notes | |
We landed here not many years ago | |
And it was not a pretty song that we composed: | |
La, la, la, the early bird he knows, | |
You hang from the cherry bough | |
When you' re lichen yourself, and leave | |
The cold cold scent of stone and mulch, | |
The great stone wall to stave the rush, | |
To think that peace might be too much, | |
Waiting for that giant touch... | |
The lake... the firfringed lake | |
Placid and ample, birded, breezed and dappled | |
Through the mountain break, | |
Through the mountain break, | |
A moment take, a moment, a moment... | |
You might wonder where you are, | |
Perched up on the reservoir, | |
Adolf in the white hotel, | |
All this time we' ve been in hell, | |
You might wonder where you are, | |
Perched above the reservoir, | |
Luis of the lake retire, | |
Before they set the lake on fire | |
Before they set the lake on fire | |
Before they set the lake on fire |