Song | Tender Blindspot |
Artist | Peter Mulvey |
Album | Notes From Elsewhere |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Mulvey | |
It's cold, but at least the sun is out | |
Her breath hangs glowing in the air | |
She's standing at the car with the key in her hand | |
Like a sleeper coming back from somewhere | |
All at once, the weight has lifted | |
Forgotten the weeping all last night | |
She's wearing a frown borrowed from her father | |
Her head is tilted a little to the right | |
And it's just your tender blindspot | |
Not the ruination of your soul | |
As long as trees are skying | |
Tears are weeping seas to make us whole | |
Still you wonder why you're aching | |
Why you should go on, you just don't know | |
But it's just your tender blindspot | |
From that tender blindspot you must go | |
The days are short and grey | |
It's the hardest time of year | |
And she must have missed the roadsign that said | |
"From now on, nothing will be clear" | |
And the whole day is claling | |
But she is frozen to the ground | |
There's something in the silence | |
There is something waiting to be found | |
And it's just your tender blindspot | |
Not the ruination of your soul | |
As long as trees are skying | |
Tears are weeping seas to make us whole | |
Still you wonder why you're aching | |
Why you should go on, you just don't know | |
But it's just your tender blindspot | |
From that tender blindspot you must go | |
And the morning dove is clinging | |
To the powerlines above | |
And time is hanging fozen | |
In its grace and pain and love |
zuo qu : Mulvey | |
It' s cold, but at least the sun is out | |
Her breath hangs glowing in the air | |
She' s standing at the car with the key in her hand | |
Like a sleeper coming back from somewhere | |
All at once, the weight has lifted | |
Forgotten the weeping all last night | |
She' s wearing a frown borrowed from her father | |
Her head is tilted a little to the right | |
And it' s just your tender blindspot | |
Not the ruination of your soul | |
As long as trees are skying | |
Tears are weeping seas to make us whole | |
Still you wonder why you' re aching | |
Why you should go on, you just don' t know | |
But it' s just your tender blindspot | |
From that tender blindspot you must go | |
The days are short and grey | |
It' s the hardest time of year | |
And she must have missed the roadsign that said | |
" From now on, nothing will be clear" | |
And the whole day is claling | |
But she is frozen to the ground | |
There' s something in the silence | |
There is something waiting to be found | |
And it' s just your tender blindspot | |
Not the ruination of your soul | |
As long as trees are skying | |
Tears are weeping seas to make us whole | |
Still you wonder why you' re aching | |
Why you should go on, you just don' t know | |
But it' s just your tender blindspot | |
From that tender blindspot you must go | |
And the morning dove is clinging | |
To the powerlines above | |
And time is hanging fozen | |
In its grace and pain and love |
zuò qǔ : Mulvey | |
It' s cold, but at least the sun is out | |
Her breath hangs glowing in the air | |
She' s standing at the car with the key in her hand | |
Like a sleeper coming back from somewhere | |
All at once, the weight has lifted | |
Forgotten the weeping all last night | |
She' s wearing a frown borrowed from her father | |
Her head is tilted a little to the right | |
And it' s just your tender blindspot | |
Not the ruination of your soul | |
As long as trees are skying | |
Tears are weeping seas to make us whole | |
Still you wonder why you' re aching | |
Why you should go on, you just don' t know | |
But it' s just your tender blindspot | |
From that tender blindspot you must go | |
The days are short and grey | |
It' s the hardest time of year | |
And she must have missed the roadsign that said | |
" From now on, nothing will be clear" | |
And the whole day is claling | |
But she is frozen to the ground | |
There' s something in the silence | |
There is something waiting to be found | |
And it' s just your tender blindspot | |
Not the ruination of your soul | |
As long as trees are skying | |
Tears are weeping seas to make us whole | |
Still you wonder why you' re aching | |
Why you should go on, you just don' t know | |
But it' s just your tender blindspot | |
From that tender blindspot you must go | |
And the morning dove is clinging | |
To the powerlines above | |
And time is hanging fozen | |
In its grace and pain and love |