Song In The Blood Lyrics

Song	Song In The Blood
Artist	Joan Baez
Album	Baptism
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Prévert
	there are great puddles of blood on the world
	where is it all going? all this spilled blood?
	is it the earth that drinks it and gets drunk?
	funny kind of drunkography then,
	so wise,
	so monotonous,
	no,
	the earth doesn’t get drunk
	the earth doesn’t turn askew
	it pushes its little car regularly, it’s four seasons,
	rain, snow, hail, fair weather,
	never is it drunk
	it’s with difficulty it permits itself from time to time
	an unhappy little volcano
	it turns, the earth,
	it turns with its trees, its gardens, its houses
	it turns with its great pools of blood
	and all living things turn with it and bleed
	it doesn’t give a damn the earth
	it turns
	and all living things set up a howl,
	it doesn’t give a damn,
	it turns
	it doesn’t stop turning
	and the blood doesn’t stop running
	where’s it going all this spilled blood?
	murder’s blood, war’s blood, misery’s blood,
	and the blood of men tortured in prisons,
	and the blood of children calmly tortured by their papa and their mama
	and the blood of men whose heads bleed in padded cells
	and the roofers blood when the roofer slips and falls from the roof
	and the blood that comes and flows in great gushes with the newborn
	the mother cries,
	the baby cries,
	the blood flows
	the earth turns
	the earth doesn’t stop turning,
	the blood doesn’t stop flowing
	where’s it going all this spilled blood?
	blood of the blackjacked,
	of the humiliated,
	of suicides
	of firing squad victims
	of the condemned
	and the blood of those that die just like that
	by accident
	in the street a living being goes by with all his blood inside
	suddenly there he is, dead
	and all his blood outside
	and other living beings make the blood disappear
	they carry the body away
	but it’s stubborn the blood
	and there where the dead one was,
	much later, all black,
	a little blood still stretches
	coagulated blood,
	life’s rust, body’s rust
	blood curdled like milk,
	like milk when it turns,
	when it turns like the earth,
	like the earth it turns with its milk,
	with its cows,
	with its living,
	with its dead,
	the earth that turns with its trees,
	with it’s living beings, its houses
	the earth that turns with marriages,
	burials,
	shells,
	regiments,
	the earth that turns and turns and turns
	with its great streams of blood.

	zuo ci : Pre vert
	there are great puddles of blood on the world
	where is it all going? all this spilled blood?
	is it the earth that drinks it and gets drunk?
	funny kind of drunkography then,
	so wise,
	so monotonous,
	no,
	the earth doesn' t get drunk
	the earth doesn' t turn askew
	it pushes its little car regularly, it' s four seasons,
	rain, snow, hail, fair weather,
	never is it drunk
	it' s with difficulty it permits itself from time to time
	an unhappy little volcano
	it turns, the earth,
	it turns with its trees, its gardens, its houses
	it turns with its great pools of blood
	and all living things turn with it and bleed
	it doesn' t give a damn the earth
	it turns
	and all living things set up a howl,
	it doesn' t give a damn,
	it turns
	it doesn' t stop turning
	and the blood doesn' t stop running
	where' s it going all this spilled blood?
	murder' s blood, war' s blood, misery' s blood,
	and the blood of men tortured in prisons,
	and the blood of children calmly tortured by their papa and their mama
	and the blood of men whose heads bleed in padded cells
	and the roofers blood when the roofer slips and falls from the roof
	and the blood that comes and flows in great gushes with the newborn
	the mother cries,
	the baby cries,
	the blood flows
	the earth turns
	the earth doesn' t stop turning,
	the blood doesn' t stop flowing
	where' s it going all this spilled blood?
	blood of the blackjacked,
	of the humiliated,
	of suicides
	of firing squad victims
	of the condemned
	and the blood of those that die just like that
	by accident
	in the street a living being goes by with all his blood inside
	suddenly there he is, dead
	and all his blood outside
	and other living beings make the blood disappear
	they carry the body away
	but it' s stubborn the blood
	and there where the dead one was,
	much later, all black,
	a little blood still stretches
	coagulated blood,
	life' s rust, body' s rust
	blood curdled like milk,
	like milk when it turns,
	when it turns like the earth,
	like the earth it turns with its milk,
	with its cows,
	with its living,
	with its dead,
	the earth that turns with its trees,
	with it' s living beings, its houses
	the earth that turns with marriages,
	burials,
	shells,
	regiments,
	the earth that turns and turns and turns
	with its great streams of blood.

	zuò cí : Pré vert
	there are great puddles of blood on the world
	where is it all going? all this spilled blood?
	is it the earth that drinks it and gets drunk?
	funny kind of drunkography then,
	so wise,
	so monotonous,
	no,
	the earth doesn' t get drunk
	the earth doesn' t turn askew
	it pushes its little car regularly, it' s four seasons,
	rain, snow, hail, fair weather,
	never is it drunk
	it' s with difficulty it permits itself from time to time
	an unhappy little volcano
	it turns, the earth,
	it turns with its trees, its gardens, its houses
	it turns with its great pools of blood
	and all living things turn with it and bleed
	it doesn' t give a damn the earth
	it turns
	and all living things set up a howl,
	it doesn' t give a damn,
	it turns
	it doesn' t stop turning
	and the blood doesn' t stop running
	where' s it going all this spilled blood?
	murder' s blood, war' s blood, misery' s blood,
	and the blood of men tortured in prisons,
	and the blood of children calmly tortured by their papa and their mama
	and the blood of men whose heads bleed in padded cells
	and the roofers blood when the roofer slips and falls from the roof
	and the blood that comes and flows in great gushes with the newborn
	the mother cries,
	the baby cries,
	the blood flows
	the earth turns
	the earth doesn' t stop turning,
	the blood doesn' t stop flowing
	where' s it going all this spilled blood?
	blood of the blackjacked,
	of the humiliated,
	of suicides
	of firing squad victims
	of the condemned
	and the blood of those that die just like that
	by accident
	in the street a living being goes by with all his blood inside
	suddenly there he is, dead
	and all his blood outside
	and other living beings make the blood disappear
	they carry the body away
	but it' s stubborn the blood
	and there where the dead one was,
	much later, all black,
	a little blood still stretches
	coagulated blood,
	life' s rust, body' s rust
	blood curdled like milk,
	like milk when it turns,
	when it turns like the earth,
	like the earth it turns with its milk,
	with its cows,
	with its living,
	with its dead,
	the earth that turns with its trees,
	with it' s living beings, its houses
	the earth that turns with marriages,
	burials,
	shells,
	regiments,
	the earth that turns and turns and turns
	with its great streams of blood.

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