Song | Primo On The Parapet |
Artist | Peter Hammill |
Album | The Noise |
作词 : Hammill | |
He crawled on hallowed ground without a map; | |
he walks on hollow legs, leaving no footprint; | |
drifts like a ghost through the quarters of lost desire, | |
breathing underwater, still running through the fire. | |
Four horsemen drive the coach of Holocaust home | |
and with what sense of history do we view our bright new world, | |
with the video nasty blasting through the set | |
of our next door neighbour? Do we learn to forget? | |
Do we learn just to forget? | |
And raw barbarity sleeps, spore in soil? | |
No-one an innocent, no-one entirely immune. | |
Still we wait for a saviour, there are no saints as yet. | |
Just that gilt badge of survival, we learn to forget. | |
The blindest eye is turned on the beast we clothe, | |
drab in the uniform of silent acquiescence. | |
So I'll raise this toast to Primo, climbing up upon the parapet | |
with one final word of caution: we must learn not to forget. | |
We must learn not to forget. | |
We must learn not to forget. | |
There's pain in remembrance, | |
but we must learn not to forget. | |
Here's a toast to Primo, | |
let's learn not to forget. | |
Here's a toast to Primo, | |
forgive but don't forget. | |
Here's a toast to Primo, | |
let's learn not to forget. | |
One last word of caution | |
from the very rim of the parapet. | |
One last word in remembrance… | |
we must learn not to forget. |
zuò cí : Hammill | |
He crawled on hallowed ground without a map | |
he walks on hollow legs, leaving no footprint | |
drifts like a ghost through the quarters of lost desire, | |
breathing underwater, still running through the fire. | |
Four horsemen drive the coach of Holocaust home | |
and with what sense of history do we view our bright new world, | |
with the video nasty blasting through the set | |
of our next door neighbour? Do we learn to forget? | |
Do we learn just to forget? | |
And raw barbarity sleeps, spore in soil? | |
Noone an innocent, noone entirely immune. | |
Still we wait for a saviour, there are no saints as yet. | |
Just that gilt badge of survival, we learn to forget. | |
The blindest eye is turned on the beast we clothe, | |
drab in the uniform of silent acquiescence. | |
So I' ll raise this toast to Primo, climbing up upon the parapet | |
with one final word of caution: we must learn not to forget. | |
We must learn not to forget. | |
We must learn not to forget. | |
There' s pain in remembrance, | |
but we must learn not to forget. | |
Here' s a toast to Primo, | |
let' s learn not to forget. | |
Here' s a toast to Primo, | |
forgive but don' t forget. | |
Here' s a toast to Primo, | |
let' s learn not to forget. | |
One last word of caution | |
from the very rim of the parapet. | |
One last word in remembrance | |
we must learn not to forget. |