| Song | Bright Young Things |
| Artist | ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead |
| Album | Lost Songs |
| 作曲 : ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead/Conrad Murray | |
| Bright Young Things - ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead | |
| Riding up their faces down | |
| Bright young things wade through town | |
| Starved souls come to life | |
| With pursed up lips and startrucked smiles | |
| See the creature on the prowl | |
| Pushing through the sea-foam crow | |
| Bedridden femme fatales | |
| Lining up to follow them around | |
| I have caught this city | |
| It won't me go | |
| Archives of wasted times | |
| In hazy states and drunken minds | |
| Hung beauty on the walls | |
| Who risk the world to bare it all | |
| Gloss writers stuck for say | |
| Ask why it has to be that way | |
| Star at their nascent lines | |
| And wonder why they lack for rhyme | |
| Our sick generation | |
| Is our festival | |
| Stop to watch the sun sink down | |
| Beneath a line of manmade clouds | |
| Rode through the flood zone mire | |
| With broken lights and one good tire | |
| Raced up the temple hill | |
| Took a blessing for a cheap thrill | |
| Disposed it for a laugh | |
| Post it to a facebook photograph | |
| And I love this city | |
| It's a spectacle | |
| A laugh a minute | |
| Raised to avoid the lie, | |
| Never learning how or why | |
| Taught to defend that right | |
| But never knowing what to fight | |
| The scholling we'd froget | |
| Chained is to a world of debt | |
| Waste paint on what we feel | |
| Without the art to make it real | |
| But we love this city | |
| We won't let it go | |
| And we are this city | |
| I watched the sun sink down | |
| Beneath the line of manmade clouds | |
| I watched the undead rise | |
| And walk the streets in search of life | |
| I've seen you back away | |
| Talking to yourself for days | |
| I've seen you sifting through | |
| A trumpet up list of what life did to you | |
| And I thought you'd make it | |
| But you let go | |
| Let yourself go crazy | |
| Archives of wasted times | |
| In hazy states and drunken minds | |
| The scholling we'd froget | |
| Chained is to a world of debt | |
| Gloss writers stuck for say | |
| Ask why it has to be that way | |
| Waste words on what they feel | |
| Without the pain to make it real | |
| And I thought you'd make it | |
| But you let go | |
| Let yourself go crazy | |
| Your festival | |
| Sick generation | |
| A spectacle | |
| How I love this city | |
| It won't let me go |
| zuò qǔ : ... And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead Conrad Murray | |
| Bright Young Things ... And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead | |
| Riding up their faces down | |
| Bright young things wade through town | |
| Starved souls come to life | |
| With pursed up lips and startrucked smiles | |
| See the creature on the prowl | |
| Pushing through the seafoam crow | |
| Bedridden femme fatales | |
| Lining up to follow them around | |
| I have caught this city | |
| It won' t me go | |
| Archives of wasted times | |
| In hazy states and drunken minds | |
| Hung beauty on the walls | |
| Who risk the world to bare it all | |
| Gloss writers stuck for say | |
| Ask why it has to be that way | |
| Star at their nascent lines | |
| And wonder why they lack for rhyme | |
| Our sick generation | |
| Is our festival | |
| Stop to watch the sun sink down | |
| Beneath a line of manmade clouds | |
| Rode through the flood zone mire | |
| With broken lights and one good tire | |
| Raced up the temple hill | |
| Took a blessing for a cheap thrill | |
| Disposed it for a laugh | |
| Post it to a facebook photograph | |
| And I love this city | |
| It' s a spectacle | |
| A laugh a minute | |
| Raised to avoid the lie, | |
| Never learning how or why | |
| Taught to defend that right | |
| But never knowing what to fight | |
| The scholling we' d froget | |
| Chained is to a world of debt | |
| Waste paint on what we feel | |
| Without the art to make it real | |
| But we love this city | |
| We won' t let it go | |
| And we are this city | |
| I watched the sun sink down | |
| Beneath the line of manmade clouds | |
| I watched the undead rise | |
| And walk the streets in search of life | |
| I' ve seen you back away | |
| Talking to yourself for days | |
| I' ve seen you sifting through | |
| A trumpet up list of what life did to you | |
| And I thought you' d make it | |
| But you let go | |
| Let yourself go crazy | |
| Archives of wasted times | |
| In hazy states and drunken minds | |
| The scholling we' d froget | |
| Chained is to a world of debt | |
| Gloss writers stuck for say | |
| Ask why it has to be that way | |
| Waste words on what they feel | |
| Without the pain to make it real | |
| And I thought you' d make it | |
| But you let go | |
| Let yourself go crazy | |
| Your festival | |
| Sick generation | |
| A spectacle | |
| How I love this city | |
| It won' t let me go |