Song | Canadian Rose |
Artist | Blues Traveler |
Album | Travelogue: Blues Traveler Classics |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : John Popper | |
作词 : Blues Traveler, Popper | |
Lyrics:John Popper Music:John Popper | |
Autumn air it carries me there | |
Less than an hour to go | |
Six hundred miles an hour | |
And still it feels so slow | |
I'm trying to get back to Burlington | |
To a square in the center of town | |
To a spot on a wooden table | |
Where her feet didn't reach the ground | |
And shen she kisses me it tasted like cinnamon | |
And her skin smells of cider and rose | |
And when she looked at me we both got quiet | |
And my heart beats so hard we were in so close | |
Once for such a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don't think that we'll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I'll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close | |
I finally made it this town looks rearranged | |
I don't know these people anymore | |
But in the best ways not much else has changed | |
From the way it was before | |
And at least they still have this certain table | |
Where I once carved a particular name | |
I run my finger through the weathered carving | |
And I almost can feel the same | |
And my mouth it almost tastes just like cinnamon | |
As I ponder what my pilgrimage means | |
And I try to figure out where Vancouver is from here | |
And I listen to the leaves | |
If only for a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don't think that we'll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I'll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close | |
And every single hope and dream I could ever conjure up | |
Passionately springs in me and all things are possible | |
Plausible and perfectly both of ours forever after and every day | |
At least it seemed that way | |
Once for such a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don't think that we'll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I'll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close |
zuo qu : John Popper | |
zuo ci : Blues Traveler, Popper | |
Lyrics: John Popper Music: John Popper | |
Autumn air it carries me there | |
Less than an hour to go | |
Six hundred miles an hour | |
And still it feels so slow | |
I' m trying to get back to Burlington | |
To a square in the center of town | |
To a spot on a wooden table | |
Where her feet didn' t reach the ground | |
And shen she kisses me it tasted like cinnamon | |
And her skin smells of cider and rose | |
And when she looked at me we both got quiet | |
And my heart beats so hard we were in so close | |
Once for such a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don' t think that we' ll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I' ll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close | |
I finally made it this town looks rearranged | |
I don' t know these people anymore | |
But in the best ways not much else has changed | |
From the way it was before | |
And at least they still have this certain table | |
Where I once carved a particular name | |
I run my finger through the weathered carving | |
And I almost can feel the same | |
And my mouth it almost tastes just like cinnamon | |
As I ponder what my pilgrimage means | |
And I try to figure out where Vancouver is from here | |
And I listen to the leaves | |
If only for a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don' t think that we' ll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I' ll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close | |
And every single hope and dream I could ever conjure up | |
Passionately springs in me and all things are possible | |
Plausible and perfectly both of ours forever after and every day | |
At least it seemed that way | |
Once for such a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don' t think that we' ll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I' ll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close |
zuò qǔ : John Popper | |
zuò cí : Blues Traveler, Popper | |
Lyrics: John Popper Music: John Popper | |
Autumn air it carries me there | |
Less than an hour to go | |
Six hundred miles an hour | |
And still it feels so slow | |
I' m trying to get back to Burlington | |
To a square in the center of town | |
To a spot on a wooden table | |
Where her feet didn' t reach the ground | |
And shen she kisses me it tasted like cinnamon | |
And her skin smells of cider and rose | |
And when she looked at me we both got quiet | |
And my heart beats so hard we were in so close | |
Once for such a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don' t think that we' ll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I' ll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close | |
I finally made it this town looks rearranged | |
I don' t know these people anymore | |
But in the best ways not much else has changed | |
From the way it was before | |
And at least they still have this certain table | |
Where I once carved a particular name | |
I run my finger through the weathered carving | |
And I almost can feel the same | |
And my mouth it almost tastes just like cinnamon | |
As I ponder what my pilgrimage means | |
And I try to figure out where Vancouver is from here | |
And I listen to the leaves | |
If only for a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don' t think that we' ll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I' ll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close | |
And every single hope and dream I could ever conjure up | |
Passionately springs in me and all things are possible | |
Plausible and perfectly both of ours forever after and every day | |
At least it seemed that way | |
Once for such a beautiful while that still makes me smile | |
And she called me her ugly American | |
And I would call her my Canadian flower | |
And I don' t think that we' ll ever get there again | |
We had such power | |
And she would call me her ugly American | |
And I' ll remember my Canadian rose | |
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington | |
We were in so close |