Song | Lonesome For A Place I Know |
Artist | Everything But the Girl |
Album | The Works |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Thorn, Watt | |
So here we are in | |
Italy With a sun hat and a dictionary. | |
The air is warm, the sky is bright, | |
Your arms are brown you're sleeping well at night. | |
So why does | |
England call? | |
The hedgerows and the townhalls. | |
After all, there'll soon be nothing left at all. | |
If we were born outside of place and time, | |
To make our choice, well this would be mine. | |
To live and die under a sun that shines. | |
But something pulls, something | |
I can't define | |
Tells me England calls, whatever she's done wrong. | |
Always calls, "This is where you belong." | |
And I'm lonesome for a place | |
I know. Oh but | |
Florence you tempt me (here) to stay, | |
Amidst your hills to while my years away. | |
But your roots in soil lie, mine in paving stone. | |
And I hate what it's become, but in my bones | |
I'm lonesome for a place | |
I know. Why does | |
England call? |
zuo ci : Thorn, Watt | |
So here we are in | |
Italy With a sun hat and a dictionary. | |
The air is warm, the sky is bright, | |
Your arms are brown you' re sleeping well at night. | |
So why does | |
England call? | |
The hedgerows and the townhalls. | |
After all, there' ll soon be nothing left at all. | |
If we were born outside of place and time, | |
To make our choice, well this would be mine. | |
To live and die under a sun that shines. | |
But something pulls, something | |
I can' t define | |
Tells me England calls, whatever she' s done wrong. | |
Always calls, " This is where you belong." | |
And I' m lonesome for a place | |
I know. Oh but | |
Florence you tempt me here to stay, | |
Amidst your hills to while my years away. | |
But your roots in soil lie, mine in paving stone. | |
And I hate what it' s become, but in my bones | |
I' m lonesome for a place | |
I know. Why does | |
England call? |
zuò cí : Thorn, Watt | |
So here we are in | |
Italy With a sun hat and a dictionary. | |
The air is warm, the sky is bright, | |
Your arms are brown you' re sleeping well at night. | |
So why does | |
England call? | |
The hedgerows and the townhalls. | |
After all, there' ll soon be nothing left at all. | |
If we were born outside of place and time, | |
To make our choice, well this would be mine. | |
To live and die under a sun that shines. | |
But something pulls, something | |
I can' t define | |
Tells me England calls, whatever she' s done wrong. | |
Always calls, " This is where you belong." | |
And I' m lonesome for a place | |
I know. Oh but | |
Florence you tempt me here to stay, | |
Amidst your hills to while my years away. | |
But your roots in soil lie, mine in paving stone. | |
And I hate what it' s become, but in my bones | |
I' m lonesome for a place | |
I know. Why does | |
England call? |