Song | Mark Rothko Song |
Artist | Dar Williams |
Album | The Honesty Room |
作词 : Williams | |
Words and music by Dar Williams | |
The blue it speaks so full | |
It's like the beauty one can barely stand | |
Or too much things dropped in your hand | |
And there's a green like the peace | |
In your heart sometimes | |
Printed underneath the sheets of ashy snow | |
And there's a blue like where the urban angels go, very bright | |
Now the Caldor mobile tips a biomorphic sphere | |
Then it swings its dangling pieces | |
round to other paintings here | |
Your behavior is so male | |
It's like you can't explain yourself to me | |
I think I'll ask Renoir to tea | |
For his flowers are as real as they are all the time | |
And the sunlight sets the furniture aglow | |
It's a pleasant time as far as people go, how far do they go? | |
Well his roses are perfect and his words have no wings | |
I know what he can give me and I like to know these things | |
I met her at the funeral | |
She said I don't know what he meant to me | |
I just know he affected me | |
An effect not unlike his art, | |
I believe | |
The service starts and we are in the know | |
He had so much to say but more to show, and ain't that true of life? | |
So we weep for a person who lived at great cost | |
Yet we barely knew his powers till we sensed that we had lost | |
A friend and I in a museum room | |
She says, 'Look at Mark Rothko's side | |
Did you know about his suicide? | |
Some folks were born with a foot in the grave, but not me, of course' | |
And she smiles as if to say we're in the know | |
Then she names a coffee place where we can go, uptown | |
Now the painting is desperate, but the crowds wash away | |
In a crowd of kind pedestrians who've seen enough today |
zuò cí : Williams | |
Words and music by Dar Williams | |
The blue it speaks so full | |
It' s like the beauty one can barely stand | |
Or too much things dropped in your hand | |
And there' s a green like the peace | |
In your heart sometimes | |
Printed underneath the sheets of ashy snow | |
And there' s a blue like where the urban angels go, very bright | |
Now the Caldor mobile tips a biomorphic sphere | |
Then it swings its dangling pieces | |
round to other paintings here | |
Your behavior is so male | |
It' s like you can' t explain yourself to me | |
I think I' ll ask Renoir to tea | |
For his flowers are as real as they are all the time | |
And the sunlight sets the furniture aglow | |
It' s a pleasant time as far as people go, how far do they go? | |
Well his roses are perfect and his words have no wings | |
I know what he can give me and I like to know these things | |
I met her at the funeral | |
She said I don' t know what he meant to me | |
I just know he affected me | |
An effect not unlike his art, | |
I believe | |
The service starts and we are in the know | |
He had so much to say but more to show, and ain' t that true of life? | |
So we weep for a person who lived at great cost | |
Yet we barely knew his powers till we sensed that we had lost | |
A friend and I in a museum room | |
She says, ' Look at Mark Rothko' s side | |
Did you know about his suicide? | |
Some folks were born with a foot in the grave, but not me, of course' | |
And she smiles as if to say we' re in the know | |
Then she names a coffee place where we can go, uptown | |
Now the painting is desperate, but the crowds wash away | |
In a crowd of kind pedestrians who' ve seen enough today |