Song | For a Spanish Guitar |
Artist | Gene Clark |
Album | White Light |
作词 : Clark | |
The dissonant bells of the sea | |
Who are ringing the rhymes of the deep | |
As they sing of the ages asleep | |
Not so near or so far | |
And the old masters wind of the waves | |
Sped forth for the free men and slaves | |
Whispers of secrets it saves | |
And about whom they are | |
And the workings of sunshine and rain | |
And the visions they paint that remain | |
Pulsate from my soul through my brain | |
In a spanish guitar | |
The beggar whom sits in the street | |
On his miserable throne of defeat | |
Envisions no wealth there to meet | |
Thinking nowhere is far | |
And the laughter of children employed | |
By the fantasies not yet destroyed | |
By the dogmas of those they avoid | |
Knowing not what they are | |
And the right and the wrong and insane | |
And the answers they cannot explain | |
Pulsate from my soul through my brain | |
In a spanish guitar | |
To play on a spanish guitar | |
With the sun shining down where you are | |
Skipping and singing a bar | |
From the music around | |
Just to laugh through the columns of trees | |
To soar like a seagull in breeze | |
To stand in the rain if you please | |
Or to never be found |
zuò cí : Clark | |
The dissonant bells of the sea | |
Who are ringing the rhymes of the deep | |
As they sing of the ages asleep | |
Not so near or so far | |
And the old masters wind of the waves | |
Sped forth for the free men and slaves | |
Whispers of secrets it saves | |
And about whom they are | |
And the workings of sunshine and rain | |
And the visions they paint that remain | |
Pulsate from my soul through my brain | |
In a spanish guitar | |
The beggar whom sits in the street | |
On his miserable throne of defeat | |
Envisions no wealth there to meet | |
Thinking nowhere is far | |
And the laughter of children employed | |
By the fantasies not yet destroyed | |
By the dogmas of those they avoid | |
Knowing not what they are | |
And the right and the wrong and insane | |
And the answers they cannot explain | |
Pulsate from my soul through my brain | |
In a spanish guitar | |
To play on a spanish guitar | |
With the sun shining down where you are | |
Skipping and singing a bar | |
From the music around | |
Just to laugh through the columns of trees | |
To soar like a seagull in breeze | |
To stand in the rain if you please | |
Or to never be found |