The Siren Song Lyrics
| Song | The Siren Song |
| Artist | Van Der Graaf Generator |
| Album | The Quiet Zone/The Pleasure Dome |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Hammill | |
| (Hammill) | |
| Letters in pencil, some of them as heavy as lead, as dated as carbon, as black as coal, but burning as red. | |
| Clues faintly stencilled: the message, though leeched, is unbled, as secret as marble - as young, as old, as living, as dead. | |
| And always that laugh that comes as though it's from pain: though | |
| I'm lashed to the mast still it hammers round my brain. | |
| Laughter in the backbone, laughter impossibly wise, that same laughter that comes every time | |
| I flash on that look in your eyes which whispers of a black zone which'll mock all my credos as lies, where all logic is done and time will smash every theory | |
| I devise. | |
| And the hour-glass is shattered only by the magic of your touch where nothing really matters.... | |
| No, Nothing matters very much! | |
| So the siren song runs through the ages, and it courses through my veins like champagne; and with all the sweet kisses of addiction it's calling me to break my bonds again. | |
| Future memory exploding like shrapnel, some splinters escape on my tongue, some of them scar comprehension... beneath the scab they burn, but the wound becomes numb. | |
| And always the song draws me forward, rejoicing in the search and the prayer, bored with all but the mad, the strange, the freak, the impossible dare. | |
| Still your laugh chills my marrow till | |
| I embrace it on my knees.... | |
| Oh, when the mast becomes a flagpole, what becomes of me? | |
| What becomes, oh, what becomes of me? |
| zuo ci : Hammill | |
| Hammill | |
| Letters in pencil, some of them as heavy as lead, as dated as carbon, as black as coal, but burning as red. | |
| Clues faintly stencilled: the message, though leeched, is unbled, as secret as marble as young, as old, as living, as dead. | |
| And always that laugh that comes as though it' s from pain: though | |
| I' m lashed to the mast still it hammers round my brain. | |
| Laughter in the backbone, laughter impossibly wise, that same laughter that comes every time | |
| I flash on that look in your eyes which whispers of a black zone which' ll mock all my credos as lies, where all logic is done and time will smash every theory | |
| I devise. | |
| And the hourglass is shattered only by the magic of your touch where nothing really matters.... | |
| No, Nothing matters very much! | |
| So the siren song runs through the ages, and it courses through my veins like champagne and with all the sweet kisses of addiction it' s calling me to break my bonds again. | |
| Future memory exploding like shrapnel, some splinters escape on my tongue, some of them scar comprehension... beneath the scab they burn, but the wound becomes numb. | |
| And always the song draws me forward, rejoicing in the search and the prayer, bored with all but the mad, the strange, the freak, the impossible dare. | |
| Still your laugh chills my marrow till | |
| I embrace it on my knees.... | |
| Oh, when the mast becomes a flagpole, what becomes of me? | |
| What becomes, oh, what becomes of me? |
| zuò cí : Hammill | |
| Hammill | |
| Letters in pencil, some of them as heavy as lead, as dated as carbon, as black as coal, but burning as red. | |
| Clues faintly stencilled: the message, though leeched, is unbled, as secret as marble as young, as old, as living, as dead. | |
| And always that laugh that comes as though it' s from pain: though | |
| I' m lashed to the mast still it hammers round my brain. | |
| Laughter in the backbone, laughter impossibly wise, that same laughter that comes every time | |
| I flash on that look in your eyes which whispers of a black zone which' ll mock all my credos as lies, where all logic is done and time will smash every theory | |
| I devise. | |
| And the hourglass is shattered only by the magic of your touch where nothing really matters.... | |
| No, Nothing matters very much! | |
| So the siren song runs through the ages, and it courses through my veins like champagne and with all the sweet kisses of addiction it' s calling me to break my bonds again. | |
| Future memory exploding like shrapnel, some splinters escape on my tongue, some of them scar comprehension... beneath the scab they burn, but the wound becomes numb. | |
| And always the song draws me forward, rejoicing in the search and the prayer, bored with all but the mad, the strange, the freak, the impossible dare. | |
| Still your laugh chills my marrow till | |
| I embrace it on my knees.... | |
| Oh, when the mast becomes a flagpole, what becomes of me? | |
| What becomes, oh, what becomes of me? |
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