歌词网

Pray Where You Are

	作曲 : Lost Dogs, Taylor
	In the submarines and tanks
	In the S and Ls and banks
	In the cancer wards, the prisons and the bars
	On the earth and on the moon
	In the closet, in your room
	In the flop houses, the think tanks and the farms
	To the salesman forever trying to sell
	To the faithful daughter walking to the well
	CHORUS
	Oh, pray where you are
	Pray where you are
	In the fields and in the factories
	There's no limits, rules or boundaries
	At work or school or driving in your car
	Pray where you are
	In the strip joints, in the church
	On a desperate lost child search
	On the airplanes and the backroads and the rails
	On the blacktops, on the beach
	Down a sewer and up a creek
	In the penthouses, the gulags and the jails
	To the criminal with no one left to con
	To the movie star whose day has come and gone
	CHORUS
	To the junky with his back against the wall
	To the lawman as he breaks another law
	In the desert, off the shore
	In peacetime and in war
	In the pentagon, the court rooms and the malls
	In the tents and in the caves
	At the truckstops, by the graves
	In our hopes and fears and struggles great and small
	To the corner bum that no one seems to hear
	To the president who prays for four more years
	Pray where you are. . .

	zuò qǔ : Lost Dogs, Taylor
	In the submarines and tanks
	In the S and Ls and banks
	In the cancer wards, the prisons and the bars
	On the earth and on the moon
	In the closet, in your room
	In the flop houses, the think tanks and the farms
	To the salesman forever trying to sell
	To the faithful daughter walking to the well
	CHORUS
	Oh, pray where you are
	Pray where you are
	In the fields and in the factories
	There' s no limits, rules or boundaries
	At work or school or driving in your car
	Pray where you are
	In the strip joints, in the church
	On a desperate lost child search
	On the airplanes and the backroads and the rails
	On the blacktops, on the beach
	Down a sewer and up a creek
	In the penthouses, the gulags and the jails
	To the criminal with no one left to con
	To the movie star whose day has come and gone
	CHORUS
	To the junky with his back against the wall
	To the lawman as he breaks another law
	In the desert, off the shore
	In peacetime and in war
	In the pentagon, the court rooms and the malls
	In the tents and in the caves
	At the truckstops, by the graves
	In our hopes and fears and struggles great and small
	To the corner bum that no one seems to hear
	To the president who prays for four more years
	Pray where you are. . .