Heartbeat And Sails

	作曲 : Richards
	Scoop my brains and let my heart have action
	In its thousand million lots,
	In the dumb city dawn I am senseless and drawn to the sun
	as the blackbirds and the toppyknots.
	And in biting down on the great foam world
	What is the looming thing?
	Not money, not flesh, not happiness,
	But this, which makes me sing.
	O scoop my brains and let my heart have action
	In its thousand million lots,
	And feel the subterranean movement a fraction
	and deep under ocean, the celibate rocks.
	Has it borne me down?
	Has it run me through?
	If I give it a name do I contract it too?
	More likely this thing has been growing in me,
	Like I have grown in you.
	Scoop my brains and let my heart have action
	In its thousand million lots,
	In the dumb city dawn we dispense with the forlorn beasts
	that we were in the night, grown lean on love.
	A love which will pierce and callous and tumesce,
	O upon the birth oath the morbid bloom
	Is a child's sense of impending doom
	in a womb that is ambushed,
	in a womb that is ambushed.
	In biting down on the great foam world,
	What is the looming thing?
	Not money, not flesh, not happiness,
	But this, which makes me sing.
	Not money, not flesh, not happiness,
	But this, which makes me sing.

	zuò qǔ : Richards
	Scoop my brains and let my heart have action
	In its thousand million lots,
	In the dumb city dawn I am senseless and drawn to the sun
	as the blackbirds and the toppyknots.
	And in biting down on the great foam world
	What is the looming thing?
	Not money, not flesh, not happiness,
	But this, which makes me sing.
	O scoop my brains and let my heart have action
	In its thousand million lots,
	And feel the subterranean movement a fraction
	and deep under ocean, the celibate rocks.
	Has it borne me down?
	Has it run me through?
	If I give it a name do I contract it too?
	More likely this thing has been growing in me,
	Like I have grown in you.
	Scoop my brains and let my heart have action
	In its thousand million lots,
	In the dumb city dawn we dispense with the forlorn beasts
	that we were in the night, grown lean on love.
	A love which will pierce and callous and tumesce,
	O upon the birth oath the morbid bloom
	Is a child' s sense of impending doom
	in a womb that is ambushed,
	in a womb that is ambushed.
	In biting down on the great foam world,
	What is the looming thing?
	Not money, not flesh, not happiness,
	But this, which makes me sing.
	Not money, not flesh, not happiness,
	But this, which makes me sing.