Song | For The Workforce, Drowning |
Artist | Thursday |
Album | War All The Time |
作词 : Rickly, Thursday | |
Falling from the top floor your lungs, fill like parachutes | |
Windows go rushing by | |
People inside, dressed for the funeral in black and white | |
These ties strangle our necks, hanging in the closet | |
Trapped in the cubicle without a name, just numbers | |
On the resume stored in the mainframe, marked for delete | |
Please take these hands, throw them in the river | |
Wash away the things they never held | |
Please take these hands, throw me in the river | |
Don’t let me drown before the workday ends9 to 59 to 5 | |
And we're up to our necks, drowning in the seconds | |
Ingesting the morning commute lost in a dead subway sleep | |
We lie wide awake in our parent’s beds, tossing and turning | |
Tomorrow we'll get up drive to work | |
Single file with everyday it's like the last | |
Waiting for the life to start, is it always just always ahead of the curve? | |
Please take these hands, throw them in the river | |
Wash away the things they never held | |
Please take these hands, throw me in the river | |
Don’t let me drown before the workday ends | |
Just keep making copies, of copies, of copies | |
When will it end? | |
It'll never end, 'til it gets so bad | |
That the ink fills in our fingerprints | |
And the silhouette of your own face | |
Becomes the black cloud of war | |
And even in our dreams we're so afraid | |
The weight will offset who we are | |
All those breaths that you took | |
Have now been canceled in your lungs | |
Last night my teeth fell out | |
Like ivory typewriter keys | |
And all the monuments and skyscrapers | |
Burned down and filled the sea | |
Save our ship, the anchor is part of the desk | |
We can't cut free, the water is flooding the decks | |
The memos sent through the currents, computers spark like flares | |
I can see them, they don't touch me, touch me | |
Please someone | |
Teach me how to swim | |
Please, don't let me drown | |
Please, don't let me drown |
zuò cí : Rickly, Thursday | |
Falling from the top floor your lungs, fill like parachutes | |
Windows go rushing by | |
People inside, dressed for the funeral in black and white | |
These ties strangle our necks, hanging in the closet | |
Trapped in the cubicle without a name, just numbers | |
On the resume stored in the mainframe, marked for delete | |
Please take these hands, throw them in the river | |
Wash away the things they never held | |
Please take these hands, throw me in the river | |
Don' t let me drown before the workday ends9 to 59 to 5 | |
And we' re up to our necks, drowning in the seconds | |
Ingesting the morning commute lost in a dead subway sleep | |
We lie wide awake in our parent' s beds, tossing and turning | |
Tomorrow we' ll get up drive to work | |
Single file with everyday it' s like the last | |
Waiting for the life to start, is it always just always ahead of the curve? | |
Please take these hands, throw them in the river | |
Wash away the things they never held | |
Please take these hands, throw me in the river | |
Don' t let me drown before the workday ends | |
Just keep making copies, of copies, of copies | |
When will it end? | |
It' ll never end, ' til it gets so bad | |
That the ink fills in our fingerprints | |
And the silhouette of your own face | |
Becomes the black cloud of war | |
And even in our dreams we' re so afraid | |
The weight will offset who we are | |
All those breaths that you took | |
Have now been canceled in your lungs | |
Last night my teeth fell out | |
Like ivory typewriter keys | |
And all the monuments and skyscrapers | |
Burned down and filled the sea | |
Save our ship, the anchor is part of the desk | |
We can' t cut free, the water is flooding the decks | |
The memos sent through the currents, computers spark like flares | |
I can see them, they don' t touch me, touch me | |
Please someone | |
Teach me how to swim | |
Please, don' t let me drown | |
Please, don' t let me drown |