[00:00.000] 作曲 : The Church
[00:43.256]Our instruments have no way of measuring this feeling
[00:51.505]Can never cut below the floor, or penetrate the ceiling.
[00:59.727]In the space between our houses, some bones have been discovered,
[01:08.758]But our procession lurches on, as if we had recovered.
[01:35.578]Draconian winter unforetold.
[01:44.118]One solar day, suddenly you're old.
[01:52.651]Your little envelope just makes me cold,
[02:01.502]Makes destination start to unfold.
[02:26.242]Our documents are useless, or forged beyond believing.
[02:34.691]Page forty-seven is unsigned, I need it by this evening.
[02:42.942]In the space between our cities, a storm is slowly forming.
[02:51.944]Something eating up our days, I feel it every morning.
[03:05.383]Destination, destination.
[03:36.209]It's not a religion, it's just a technique.
[03:44.650]It's just a way of making you speak.
[03:53.460]Distance and speed have left us too weak,
[04:01.675]And destination looks kind of bleak.
[04:26.703]Our elements are burned out, our beasts have been mistreated.
[04:35.181]I tell you it's the only way we'll get this road completed.
[04:43.423]In the space between our bodies, the air has grown small fingers.
[04:52.424]Just one caress, you're powerless,
[04:56.691]like all those clapped-out swingers
[05:05.944]Destination, destination.