Parakeet Lyrics

	作词 : Buck, Mills, Stipe
	you wake up in the morning
	and fall out of your bed
	mean cats eat parakeets
	and this one's nearly dead.
	you dearly wish the wind would shift
	and greasy windows slide
	open for the parakeet
	who's colored bitter lime.
	open the window
	and lift into your dreams
	lately　baby
	you can barely breathe.
	a broken wrist
	an accident
	you know that something's wrong
	you fold the leavings of your past
	no one knows you've gone.
	the sunspot flares of the early
	nineties light up your wings.
	and scan the shortwave radio
	it's tracking outer rings.
	the tectonic dispatcher shifts
	to smooth the ocean floor
	and flattens out to warmer winds
	of Brisbane's sunny shore.
	where buddhas tend to mending wrists
	a tea made from the leaves
	of eucalyptus fragrances
	and coriander seeds.
	you wake up in the morning
	to warm Pacific breeze
	where mean cats chew on licorice
	and cannot climb the trees.
	open your window
	and lift into a dream
	baby, baby
	baby starts to breathe

	zuo ci : Buck, Mills, Stipe
	you wake up in the morning
	and fall out of your bed
	mean cats eat parakeets
	and this one' s nearly dead.
	you dearly wish the wind would shift
	and greasy windows slide
	open for the parakeet
	who' s colored bitter lime.
	open the window
	and lift into your dreams
	lately　 baby
	you can barely breathe.
	a broken wrist
	an accident
	you know that something' s wrong
	you fold the leavings of your past
	no one knows you' ve gone.
	the sunspot flares of the early
	nineties light up your wings.
	and scan the shortwave radio
	it' s tracking outer rings.
	the tectonic dispatcher shifts
	to smooth the ocean floor
	and flattens out to warmer winds
	of Brisbane' s sunny shore.
	where buddhas tend to mending wrists
	a tea made from the leaves
	of eucalyptus fragrances
	and coriander seeds.
	you wake up in the morning
	to warm Pacific breeze
	where mean cats chew on licorice
	and cannot climb the trees.
	open your window
	and lift into a dream
	baby, baby
	baby starts to breathe

	zuò cí : Buck, Mills, Stipe
	you wake up in the morning
	and fall out of your bed
	mean cats eat parakeets
	and this one' s nearly dead.
	you dearly wish the wind would shift
	and greasy windows slide
	open for the parakeet
	who' s colored bitter lime.
	open the window
	and lift into your dreams
	lately　 baby
	you can barely breathe.
	a broken wrist
	an accident
	you know that something' s wrong
	you fold the leavings of your past
	no one knows you' ve gone.
	the sunspot flares of the early
	nineties light up your wings.
	and scan the shortwave radio
	it' s tracking outer rings.
	the tectonic dispatcher shifts
	to smooth the ocean floor
	and flattens out to warmer winds
	of Brisbane' s sunny shore.
	where buddhas tend to mending wrists
	a tea made from the leaves
	of eucalyptus fragrances
	and coriander seeds.
	you wake up in the morning
	to warm Pacific breeze
	where mean cats chew on licorice
	and cannot climb the trees.
	open your window
	and lift into a dream
	baby, baby
	baby starts to breathe

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