Tart

	作曲 : Elvis Costello
	作词 : Elvis Costello
	Hear silver trumpets will trill in Arabic streets of Seville
	Oranges roll in the gutter
	And you pick them up
	And peel back the skin
	To the red fruit within

	But the flavor is...
	Tart
	And the flavor is...
	Tart
	Is it something you crave?
	And you say that you only feel bitterness
	When you know it's a lie, lie, lie...

	Wild with a blackberry bush
	There were blossoms of cherries to crush
	There, at the edge of the asphalt tempting fingertips
	They stain your hands, press too hard
	They'll color your lips...

	But the flavor is...
	Tart
	And the flavor is...
	Tart

	Is it something you crave?
	'Cos you say that you only feel bitterness
	Would it kill you to show us a little sweetness?

	Repeat chorus

	Odd, where nothing else grows
	It was something like love that she chose
	Always a creature of habit
	When pity would do
	She wore down that heel with no feeling
	She kept on her shoes

	Repeat chorus

	Nylon was hung from a peg
	And a kohl black seam ran down her leg
	Fishermen look for their nets
	And send their regrets
	The bug lay there broken
	She spoke: "Is this some kind of joke?"

	But the flavor is...
	Tart

	zuò qǔ : Elvis Costello
	zuò cí : Elvis Costello
	Hear silver trumpets will trill in Arabic streets of Seville
	Oranges roll in the gutter
	And you pick them up
	And peel back the skin
	To the red fruit within

	But the flavor is...
	Tart
	And the flavor is...
	Tart
	Is it something you crave?
	And you say that you only feel bitterness
	When you know it' s a lie, lie, lie...

	Wild with a blackberry bush
	There were blossoms of cherries to crush
	There, at the edge of the asphalt tempting fingertips
	They stain your hands, press too hard
	They' ll color your lips...

	But the flavor is...
	Tart
	And the flavor is...
	Tart

	Is it something you crave?
	' Cos you say that you only feel bitterness
	Would it kill you to show us a little sweetness?

	Repeat chorus

	Odd, where nothing else grows
	It was something like love that she chose
	Always a creature of habit
	When pity would do
	She wore down that heel with no feeling
	She kept on her shoes

	Repeat chorus

	Nylon was hung from a peg
	And a kohl black seam ran down her leg
	Fishermen look for their nets
	And send their regrets
	The bug lay there broken
	She spoke: " Is this some kind of joke?"

	But the flavor is...
	Tart