| 作曲 : Cleaver, Wussy | |
| Cut paper snowflakes hang down from the ceiling. | |
| The bathwater ripples, predicting an earthquake. | |
| An air bubble surfaces, rising to heaven. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living a lie. | |
| Dreadful sorry. (x4) | |
| The grandaddy longlegs is climbing the curtain. | |
| The breeze from the carport smells like a tornado. | |
| The sound from the turnpike comes in through the window. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living alone. | |
| Dreadful sorry. (x4) | |
| "I can tell by your accent that you're from Ohio," | |
| The pump jockey says as he's wiping the window. | |
| Stumbling (tumbling?) forward, he snaps the antenna. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living in hell. | |
| Dreadful sorry. (x4) | |
| "I can tell by your accent that you're from Ohio." | |
| The granddaddy longlegs is climbing the curtain. | |
| Cut paper snowflakes hang down from the ceiling. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living a lie. |
| zuo qu : Cleaver, Wussy | |
| Cut paper snowflakes hang down from the ceiling. | |
| The bathwater ripples, predicting an earthquake. | |
| An air bubble surfaces, rising to heaven. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living a lie. | |
| Dreadful sorry. x4 | |
| The grandaddy longlegs is climbing the curtain. | |
| The breeze from the carport smells like a tornado. | |
| The sound from the turnpike comes in through the window. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living alone. | |
| Dreadful sorry. x4 | |
| " I can tell by your accent that you' re from Ohio," | |
| The pump jockey says as he' s wiping the window. | |
| Stumbling tumbling? forward, he snaps the antenna. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living in hell. | |
| Dreadful sorry. x4 | |
| " I can tell by your accent that you' re from Ohio." | |
| The granddaddy longlegs is climbing the curtain. | |
| Cut paper snowflakes hang down from the ceiling. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living a lie. |
| zuò qǔ : Cleaver, Wussy | |
| Cut paper snowflakes hang down from the ceiling. | |
| The bathwater ripples, predicting an earthquake. | |
| An air bubble surfaces, rising to heaven. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living a lie. | |
| Dreadful sorry. x4 | |
| The grandaddy longlegs is climbing the curtain. | |
| The breeze from the carport smells like a tornado. | |
| The sound from the turnpike comes in through the window. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living alone. | |
| Dreadful sorry. x4 | |
| " I can tell by your accent that you' re from Ohio," | |
| The pump jockey says as he' s wiping the window. | |
| Stumbling tumbling? forward, he snaps the antenna. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living in hell. | |
| Dreadful sorry. x4 | |
| " I can tell by your accent that you' re from Ohio." | |
| The granddaddy longlegs is climbing the curtain. | |
| Cut paper snowflakes hang down from the ceiling. | |
| Some call this living, but I call this living a lie. |
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