Wild Sage

	作词 : Darnielle
	I leave as soon as it gets light outside
	Like a prisoner breaking out of jail
	And I steal down to business 15-501
	Like I had a bounty hunter on my tail
	And somebody stops to pick me up
	But he drops me off just down the block
	And along the highway where the empty spirits breathe
	Wild sage growing in the weeds
	Walked down the soft shoulder and I count my steps
	Headed vaguely eastward, sun in my eyes
	And I lose my footing and I skin my hands breaking my fall
	And I laugh to myself and look up at the skies
	And then I think I hear angels in my ears
	Like marbles being thrown against a mirror
	And along the highway where unlucky stray dogs bleed
	Wild sage growing in the weeds
	And some days I don't miss my family
	And some days I do
	Some days I think I'd feel better if I tried harder
	Most days I know it's not true
	I lay down right where I felt cold grass in my face
	And I hear the traffic like the rhythm of the tides
	And I stare at the scrape on the heel of my hand
	'Till it doesn't sting so much and until the blood's dried
	And when somebody asks if I'm okay
	I don't know what to say
	And along the highway, from cast-off innumerable seeds
	Wild sage growing in the weeds

	zuò cí : Darnielle
	I leave as soon as it gets light outside
	Like a prisoner breaking out of jail
	And I steal down to business 15501
	Like I had a bounty hunter on my tail
	And somebody stops to pick me up
	But he drops me off just down the block
	And along the highway where the empty spirits breathe
	Wild sage growing in the weeds
	Walked down the soft shoulder and I count my steps
	Headed vaguely eastward, sun in my eyes
	And I lose my footing and I skin my hands breaking my fall
	And I laugh to myself and look up at the skies
	And then I think I hear angels in my ears
	Like marbles being thrown against a mirror
	And along the highway where unlucky stray dogs bleed
	Wild sage growing in the weeds
	And some days I don' t miss my family
	And some days I do
	Some days I think I' d feel better if I tried harder
	Most days I know it' s not true
	I lay down right where I felt cold grass in my face
	And I hear the traffic like the rhythm of the tides
	And I stare at the scrape on the heel of my hand
	' Till it doesn' t sting so much and until the blood' s dried
	And when somebody asks if I' m okay
	I don' t know what to say
	And along the highway, from castoff innumerable seeds
	Wild sage growing in the weeds