作曲 : Moor | |
It's so formless | |
That's what's killing me | |
Remorseless, relentless | |
And it's endlessly this pressure | |
On pleasures hard to find | |
Its expression | |
Walks amongst these hungry times | |
Like the blues made flesh | |
And so it goes... | |
What of this can we keep | |
We're scratching out a living here | |
Where living is dear and life is cheap | |
So we pray to all of the gods who'll listen | |
Deliver me, consider me | |
Get rid of these hostilities at my shoes | |
How can it be true, | |
I... I'll toe the line | |
But damn these hungry times | |
Just a little would taste so fine | |
But damn these hungry times | |
I'm suspicious | |
If love don't leave no scars | |
Between its kisses | |
Its curses and its calm | |
You know it won't do | |
If love's enough to eat | |
Then we'd hunger | |
And on the licks of love we'd feast ' | |
Til we're ghosts... | |
Of a memory... |
zuo qu : Moor | |
It' s so formless | |
That' s what' s killing me | |
Remorseless, relentless | |
And it' s endlessly this pressure | |
On pleasures hard to find | |
Its expression | |
Walks amongst these hungry times | |
Like the blues made flesh | |
And so it goes... | |
What of this can we keep | |
We' re scratching out a living here | |
Where living is dear and life is cheap | |
So we pray to all of the gods who' ll listen | |
Deliver me, consider me | |
Get rid of these hostilities at my shoes | |
How can it be true, | |
I... I' ll toe the line | |
But damn these hungry times | |
Just a little would taste so fine | |
But damn these hungry times | |
I' m suspicious | |
If love don' t leave no scars | |
Between its kisses | |
Its curses and its calm | |
You know it won' t do | |
If love' s enough to eat | |
Then we' d hunger | |
And on the licks of love we' d feast ' | |
Til we' re ghosts... | |
Of a memory... |
zuò qǔ : Moor | |
It' s so formless | |
That' s what' s killing me | |
Remorseless, relentless | |
And it' s endlessly this pressure | |
On pleasures hard to find | |
Its expression | |
Walks amongst these hungry times | |
Like the blues made flesh | |
And so it goes... | |
What of this can we keep | |
We' re scratching out a living here | |
Where living is dear and life is cheap | |
So we pray to all of the gods who' ll listen | |
Deliver me, consider me | |
Get rid of these hostilities at my shoes | |
How can it be true, | |
I... I' ll toe the line | |
But damn these hungry times | |
Just a little would taste so fine | |
But damn these hungry times | |
I' m suspicious | |
If love don' t leave no scars | |
Between its kisses | |
Its curses and its calm | |
You know it won' t do | |
If love' s enough to eat | |
Then we' d hunger | |
And on the licks of love we' d feast ' | |
Til we' re ghosts... | |
Of a memory... |