| Song | Envelopes of Yesterday |
| Artist | Peter Sinfield |
| Album | Still |
| [ti:Envelopes of Yesterday] | |
| [ar:Peter Sinfield] | |
| [al:Still] | |
| [00:00.00] | 作曲 : Sinfield |
| [00:35.27] | I feel like a rusty key I don't fit any door |
| [00:42.24] | You stole my cloudy castles but you didn't say what for |
| [00:49.41] | You said I didn't have the eyes to paint out in the street |
| [00:56.50] | Without a standard martyr's hat and neon sloganned feet |
| [01:04.04] | To eat, it seems, I needed you, for crumbs your need was me |
| [01:11.15] | We cheered and passed the sanguine flask till the iceman made me see |
| [01:18.05] | At five o'clock you could never wash your printer's stain away |
| [01:25.01] | So I count you lost and your words I've tossed |
| [01:28.49] | In the bleary(weary) envelopes of yesterday... |
| [01:35.81] | |
| [01:37.68] | I feel like a tumbling kite there's no hand on my reel |
| [01:44.63] | I dived aboard your star-bright ship to find you'd left the wheel |
| [01:51.74] | To hunt some upstart passengers who had gambled with their fare |
| [01:58.56] | Then trumpeted the hull with holes and laughing gone by air |
| [02:05.72] | Whilst most of us who stayed aboard slipped brandy to the crew |
| [02:12.79] | John Purser locked his iron box and pointed at the queue |
| [02:19.72] | Still working out the price of time no echoes will we lay |
| [02:26.83] | So I've burnt the till and I've thrown the bills |
| [02:30.71] | In the weary(weary) envelopes of yesterday... |
| [02:37.68] | |
| [03:21.04] | I need to suck the breasts of time and freeze her milk in ink |
| [03:28.24] | To juggle cruets full of dreams and balance on the brink |
| [03:35.04] | Don't blame me if my smoke and steam obscured your rutted track |
| [03:42.09] | I only meant to startle you not offer you my back |
| [03:49.21] | To ride upon and overload with your jars of unbaked clay |
| [03:55.96] | You can find your guide to the pulpit ride |
| [03:59.57] | In the dreary(weary) envelopes of yesterday... |
| [04:06.55] | |
| [04:09.43] | I'm upside down, I'm an empty town, my eyes are full of ghost |
| [04:17.22] | Of dusty windowed certainty and spider-webbed almost |
| [04:23.95] | I love, I hate this rock and roll, the ladies and the lights |
| [04:30.70] | Ate all my flowers long ago but the roots came through all right |
| [04:37.65] | Whilst now my toast is the crossroads post, I hear just out of sight |
| [04:44.81] | That the Black Pick's found his Chaldean lamp |
| [04:48.30] | After years in a concentration camp |
| [04:51.67] | But I fear he's still out on the ice |
| [04:55.08] | With his bagpipe mouth and his cup of crimson speiss |
| [05:02.32] | |
| [05:25.80] | Still, I've fulfilled a host of dreams for that I'll cry hurray |
| [05:26:00] | (Still, I've explored a plague of dreams and I've led the masquerade) |
| [05:32.61] | But it won't be long till I cast this song |
| [05:36.33] | In the jet-edged envelopes... |
| [05:36.53] | (In the ash-filled envelopes...) |
| [05:39.89] |
| ti: Envelopes of Yesterday | |
| ar: Peter Sinfield | |
| al: Still | |
| [00:00.00] | zuò qǔ : Sinfield |
| [00:35.27] | I feel like a rusty key I don' t fit any door |
| [00:42.24] | You stole my cloudy castles but you didn' t say what for |
| [00:49.41] | You said I didn' t have the eyes to paint out in the street |
| [00:56.50] | Without a standard martyr' s hat and neon sloganned feet |
| [01:04.04] | To eat, it seems, I needed you, for crumbs your need was me |
| [01:11.15] | We cheered and passed the sanguine flask till the iceman made me see |
| [01:18.05] | At five o' clock you could never wash your printer' s stain away |
| [01:25.01] | So I count you lost and your words I' ve tossed |
| [01:28.49] | In the bleary weary envelopes of yesterday... |
| [01:35.81] | |
| [01:37.68] | I feel like a tumbling kite there' s no hand on my reel |
| [01:44.63] | I dived aboard your starbright ship to find you' d left the wheel |
| [01:51.74] | To hunt some upstart passengers who had gambled with their fare |
| [01:58.56] | Then trumpeted the hull with holes and laughing gone by air |
| [02:05.72] | Whilst most of us who stayed aboard slipped brandy to the crew |
| [02:12.79] | John Purser locked his iron box and pointed at the queue |
| [02:19.72] | Still working out the price of time no echoes will we lay |
| [02:26.83] | So I' ve burnt the till and I' ve thrown the bills |
| [02:30.71] | In the weary weary envelopes of yesterday... |
| [02:37.68] | |
| [03:21.04] | I need to suck the breasts of time and freeze her milk in ink |
| [03:28.24] | To juggle cruets full of dreams and balance on the brink |
| [03:35.04] | Don' t blame me if my smoke and steam obscured your rutted track |
| [03:42.09] | I only meant to startle you not offer you my back |
| [03:49.21] | To ride upon and overload with your jars of unbaked clay |
| [03:55.96] | You can find your guide to the pulpit ride |
| [03:59.57] | In the dreary weary envelopes of yesterday... |
| [04:06.55] | |
| [04:09.43] | I' m upside down, I' m an empty town, my eyes are full of ghost |
| [04:17.22] | Of dusty windowed certainty and spiderwebbed almost |
| [04:23.95] | I love, I hate this rock and roll, the ladies and the lights |
| [04:30.70] | Ate all my flowers long ago but the roots came through all right |
| [04:37.65] | Whilst now my toast is the crossroads post, I hear just out of sight |
| [04:44.81] | That the Black Pick' s found his Chaldean lamp |
| [04:48.30] | After years in a concentration camp |
| [04:51.67] | But I fear he' s still out on the ice |
| [04:55.08] | With his bagpipe mouth and his cup of crimson speiss |
| [05:02.32] | |
| [05:25.80] | Still, I' ve fulfilled a host of dreams for that I' ll cry hurray |
| [05:26:00] | Still, I' ve explored a plague of dreams and I' ve led the masquerade |
| [05:32.61] | But it won' t be long till I cast this song |
| [05:36.33] | In the jetedged envelopes... |
| [05:36.53] | In the ashfilled envelopes... |
| [05:39.89] |