Song | A Song for Douglas After He's Dead |
Artist | Current 93 |
Album | Thunder Perfect Mind |
作词 : Current 93, Tibet | |
He crouches on the floor, there's a mask on the wall | |
And he leafs, through the pages of a book | |
But wait as he may in the shadow of other leaves | |
His heart, in embraces to times long since scorched | |
The horizont folds over, with a purpose sun rise | |
And the wind, carry smoke, from a earth that is burning | |
The smoke clogs in his hair, and he's covered with patterns | |
And a decent, of life trees, on his camouflaged soul | |
With a winter of memories, carved ponder bone white | |
Beyond his sculls for, a scorpion lies | |
In the crunch of the snow, as his darkness increases | |
A twilight of ice, encircles his teeth | |
This is a song for Douglas, after he's dead | |
This is a song for Douglas, his mercury dances | |
There's a swastika carved, in the palm of his hand | |
There's a crooked cross, that is caught in his mind | |
There waits a falling sun, in his eyes | |
There's the honor, of violence, on his lips | |
His father waits for him, in the towers of silence | |
Where they worship the fires, so long ago cringed | |
But the two willow trees, with el has inverted | |
The fork of life snapped | |
They are father and son | |
So mingling dust, as if life itself, had been mostly illusion | |
But parchly real | |
And parchly pain | |
And over some wall, if you look through rebels | |
Amongst ruins of churches, where life conquers death | |
Thou empires can not last, where blood and concepts | |
The folted and failed | |
A cloud still sow his teeth | |
As the world disappears | |
This is a song for Douglas, after he's dead | |
This is a song for my Douglas, his mercury dances |
zuò cí : Current 93, Tibet | |
He crouches on the floor, there' s a mask on the wall | |
And he leafs, through the pages of a book | |
But wait as he may in the shadow of other leaves | |
His heart, in embraces to times long since scorched | |
The horizont folds over, with a purpose sun rise | |
And the wind, carry smoke, from a earth that is burning | |
The smoke clogs in his hair, and he' s covered with patterns | |
And a decent, of life trees, on his camouflaged soul | |
With a winter of memories, carved ponder bone white | |
Beyond his sculls for, a scorpion lies | |
In the crunch of the snow, as his darkness increases | |
A twilight of ice, encircles his teeth | |
This is a song for Douglas, after he' s dead | |
This is a song for Douglas, his mercury dances | |
There' s a swastika carved, in the palm of his hand | |
There' s a crooked cross, that is caught in his mind | |
There waits a falling sun, in his eyes | |
There' s the honor, of violence, on his lips | |
His father waits for him, in the towers of silence | |
Where they worship the fires, so long ago cringed | |
But the two willow trees, with el has inverted | |
The fork of life snapped | |
They are father and son | |
So mingling dust, as if life itself, had been mostly illusion | |
But parchly real | |
And parchly pain | |
And over some wall, if you look through rebels | |
Amongst ruins of churches, where life conquers death | |
Thou empires can not last, where blood and concepts | |
The folted and failed | |
A cloud still sow his teeth | |
As the world disappears | |
This is a song for Douglas, after he' s dead | |
This is a song for my Douglas, his mercury dances |