歌曲 | Self Evident |
歌手 | Ani DiFranco |
专辑 | Carnegie Hall 4.6.02 |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : DiFranco | |
Yes, | |
Us people are just poems | |
We're 90% metaphor | |
With a leanness of meaning | |
Approaching hyper-distillation | |
And once upon a time | |
We were moonshine | |
Rushing down the throat of a giraffe | |
Yes, rushing down the long hallway | |
Despite what the p.A. announcement says | |
Yes, rushing down the long stairs | |
With the whiskey of eternity | |
Fermented and distilled | |
To eighteen minutes | |
Burning down our throats | |
Down the hall | |
Down the stairs | |
In a building so tall | |
That it will always be there | |
Yes, it's part of a pair | |
There on the bow of noah's ark | |
The most prestigious couple | |
Just kickin back parked | |
Against a perfectly blue sky | |
On a morning beatific | |
In its indian summer breeze | |
On the day that america | |
Fell to its knees | |
After strutting around for a century | |
Without saying thank you | |
Or please | |
And the shock was subsonic | |
And the smoke was deafening | |
Between the setup and the punch line | |
Cuz we were all on time for work that day | |
We all boarded that plane for to fly | |
And then while the fires were raging | |
We all climbed up on the windowsill | |
And then we all held hands | |
And jumped into the sky | |
And every borough looked up when it heard the first blast | |
And then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed | |
And the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar | |
Looked more like war than anything I've seen so far | |
So far | |
So far | |
So fierce and ingenious | |
A poetic specter so far gone | |
That every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling | |
Over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on | |
And I'll tell you what, while we're at it | |
You can keep the pentagon | |
Keep the propaganda | |
Keep each and every tv | |
That's been trying to convince me | |
To participate | |
In some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution | |
Perpetuate retribution | |
Even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution | |
Is still hanging in the air | |
And there's ash on our shoes | |
And there's ash in our hair | |
And there's a fine silt on every mantle | |
From hell's kitchen to brooklyn | |
And the streets are full of stories | |
Sudden twists and near misses | |
And soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters | |
With tales of narrowly averted disasters | |
And the whiskey is flowin | |
Like never before | |
As all over the country | |
Folks just shake their heads | |
And pour | |
So here's a toast to all the folks who live in palestine | |
Afghanistan | |
Iraq | |
El Salvador | |
Here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation | |
Under the stone cold gaze of mt. rushmore | |
Here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors | |
Who daily provide women with a choice | |
Who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city | |
Just to listen to a young woman's voice | |
Here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now | |
Awaiting the executioner's guillotine | |
Who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads | |
To find peace in the form of a dream | |
Cuz take away our playstations | |
And we are a third world nation | |
Under the thumb of some blue blood royal son | |
Who stole the oval office and that phony election | |
I mean | |
It don't take a weatherman | |
To look around and see the weather | |
Jeb said he'd deliver florida, folks | |
And boy did he ever | |
And we hold these truths to be self evident: | |
#1 george w. bush is not president | |
#2 america is not a true democracy | |
#3 the media is not fooling me | |
Cuz I am a poem heeding hyper-distillation | |
I've got no room for a lie so verbose | |
I'm looking out over my whole human family | |
And I'm raising my glass in a toast | |
Here's to our last drink of fossil fuels | |
Let us vow to get off of this sauce | |
Shoo away the swarms of commuter planes | |
And find that train ticket we lost | |
Cuz once upon a time the line followed the river | |
And peeked into all the backyards | |
And the laundry was waving | |
The graffiti was teasing us | |
From brick walls and bridges | |
We were rolling over ridges | |
Through valleys | |
Under stars | |
I dream of touring like duke ellington | |
In my own railroad car | |
I dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches | |
In a grand station aglow with grace | |
And then standing out on the platform | |
And feeling the air on my face | |
Give back the night its distant whistle | |
Give the darkness back its soul | |
Give the big oil companies the finger finally | |
And relearn how to rock-n-roll | |
Yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there | |
So it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets | |
And clear the air | |
Get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand | |
Of someone else's desert | |
Put it back in its pants | |
And quit the hypocritical chants of | |
Freedom forever | |
Cuz when one lone phone rang | |
In two thousand and one | |
At ten after nine | |
On nine one one | |
Which is the number we all called | |
When that lone phone rang right off the wall | |
Right off our desk and down the long hall | |
Down the long stairs | |
In a building so tall | |
That the whole world turned | |
Just to watch it fall | |
And while we're at it | |
Remember the first time around? | |
The bomb? | |
The ryder truck? | |
The parking garage? | |
The princess that didn't even feel the pea? | |
Remember joking around in our apartment on avenue d? | |
Can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design | |
Following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline?! | |
It was a joke, of course | |
It was a joke | |
At the time | |
And that was just a few years ago | |
So let the record show | |
That the fbi was all over that case | |
That the plot was obvious and in everybody's face | |
And scoping that scene | |
Religiously | |
The cia | |
Or is it kgb? | |
Committing countless crimes against humanity | |
With this kind of eventuality | |
As its excuse | |
For abuse after expensive abuse | |
And it didn't have a clue | |
Look, another window to see through | |
Way up here | |
On the 104th floor | |
Look | |
Another key | |
Another door | |
10% literal | |
90% metaphor | |
3000 some poems disguised as people | |
On an almost too perfect day | |
Should be more than pawns | |
In some asshole's passion play | |
So now it's your job | |
And it's my job | |
To make it that way | |
To make sure they didn't die in vain | |
Sshhhhhh | |
Baby listen | |
Hear the train? |
zuo ci : DiFranco | |
Yes, | |
Us people are just poems | |
We' re 90 metaphor | |
With a leanness of meaning | |
Approaching hyperdistillation | |
And once upon a time | |
We were moonshine | |
Rushing down the throat of a giraffe | |
Yes, rushing down the long hallway | |
Despite what the p. A. announcement says | |
Yes, rushing down the long stairs | |
With the whiskey of eternity | |
Fermented and distilled | |
To eighteen minutes | |
Burning down our throats | |
Down the hall | |
Down the stairs | |
In a building so tall | |
That it will always be there | |
Yes, it' s part of a pair | |
There on the bow of noah' s ark | |
The most prestigious couple | |
Just kickin back parked | |
Against a perfectly blue sky | |
On a morning beatific | |
In its indian summer breeze | |
On the day that america | |
Fell to its knees | |
After strutting around for a century | |
Without saying thank you | |
Or please | |
And the shock was subsonic | |
And the smoke was deafening | |
Between the setup and the punch line | |
Cuz we were all on time for work that day | |
We all boarded that plane for to fly | |
And then while the fires were raging | |
We all climbed up on the windowsill | |
And then we all held hands | |
And jumped into the sky | |
And every borough looked up when it heard the first blast | |
And then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed | |
And the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar | |
Looked more like war than anything I' ve seen so far | |
So far | |
So far | |
So fierce and ingenious | |
A poetic specter so far gone | |
That every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling | |
Over ' oh my god' and ' this is unbelievable' and on and on | |
And I' ll tell you what, while we' re at it | |
You can keep the pentagon | |
Keep the propaganda | |
Keep each and every tv | |
That' s been trying to convince me | |
To participate | |
In some prep school punk' s plan to perpetuate retribution | |
Perpetuate retribution | |
Even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution | |
Is still hanging in the air | |
And there' s ash on our shoes | |
And there' s ash in our hair | |
And there' s a fine silt on every mantle | |
From hell' s kitchen to brooklyn | |
And the streets are full of stories | |
Sudden twists and near misses | |
And soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters | |
With tales of narrowly averted disasters | |
And the whiskey is flowin | |
Like never before | |
As all over the country | |
Folks just shake their heads | |
And pour | |
So here' s a toast to all the folks who live in palestine | |
Afghanistan | |
Iraq | |
El Salvador | |
Here' s a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation | |
Under the stone cold gaze of mt. rushmore | |
Here' s a toast to all those nurses and doctors | |
Who daily provide women with a choice | |
Who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city | |
Just to listen to a young woman' s voice | |
Here' s a toast to all the folks on death row right now | |
Awaiting the executioner' s guillotine | |
Who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads | |
To find peace in the form of a dream | |
Cuz take away our playstations | |
And we are a third world nation | |
Under the thumb of some blue blood royal son | |
Who stole the oval office and that phony election | |
I mean | |
It don' t take a weatherman | |
To look around and see the weather | |
Jeb said he' d deliver florida, folks | |
And boy did he ever | |
And we hold these truths to be self evident: | |
1 george w. bush is not president | |
2 america is not a true democracy | |
3 the media is not fooling me | |
Cuz I am a poem heeding hyperdistillation | |
I' ve got no room for a lie so verbose | |
I' m looking out over my whole human family | |
And I' m raising my glass in a toast | |
Here' s to our last drink of fossil fuels | |
Let us vow to get off of this sauce | |
Shoo away the swarms of commuter planes | |
And find that train ticket we lost | |
Cuz once upon a time the line followed the river | |
And peeked into all the backyards | |
And the laundry was waving | |
The graffiti was teasing us | |
From brick walls and bridges | |
We were rolling over ridges | |
Through valleys | |
Under stars | |
I dream of touring like duke ellington | |
In my own railroad car | |
I dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches | |
In a grand station aglow with grace | |
And then standing out on the platform | |
And feeling the air on my face | |
Give back the night its distant whistle | |
Give the darkness back its soul | |
Give the big oil companies the finger finally | |
And relearn how to rocknroll | |
Yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there | |
So it' s time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets | |
And clear the air | |
Get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand | |
Of someone else' s desert | |
Put it back in its pants | |
And quit the hypocritical chants of | |
Freedom forever | |
Cuz when one lone phone rang | |
In two thousand and one | |
At ten after nine | |
On nine one one | |
Which is the number we all called | |
When that lone phone rang right off the wall | |
Right off our desk and down the long hall | |
Down the long stairs | |
In a building so tall | |
That the whole world turned | |
Just to watch it fall | |
And while we' re at it | |
Remember the first time around? | |
The bomb? | |
The ryder truck? | |
The parking garage? | |
The princess that didn' t even feel the pea? | |
Remember joking around in our apartment on avenue d? | |
Can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design | |
Following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline?! | |
It was a joke, of course | |
It was a joke | |
At the time | |
And that was just a few years ago | |
So let the record show | |
That the fbi was all over that case | |
That the plot was obvious and in everybody' s face | |
And scoping that scene | |
Religiously | |
The cia | |
Or is it kgb? | |
Committing countless crimes against humanity | |
With this kind of eventuality | |
As its excuse | |
For abuse after expensive abuse | |
And it didn' t have a clue | |
Look, another window to see through | |
Way up here | |
On the 104th floor | |
Look | |
Another key | |
Another door | |
10 literal | |
90 metaphor | |
3000 some poems disguised as people | |
On an almost too perfect day | |
Should be more than pawns | |
In some asshole' s passion play | |
So now it' s your job | |
And it' s my job | |
To make it that way | |
To make sure they didn' t die in vain | |
Sshhhhhh | |
Baby listen | |
Hear the train? |
zuò cí : DiFranco | |
Yes, | |
Us people are just poems | |
We' re 90 metaphor | |
With a leanness of meaning | |
Approaching hyperdistillation | |
And once upon a time | |
We were moonshine | |
Rushing down the throat of a giraffe | |
Yes, rushing down the long hallway | |
Despite what the p. A. announcement says | |
Yes, rushing down the long stairs | |
With the whiskey of eternity | |
Fermented and distilled | |
To eighteen minutes | |
Burning down our throats | |
Down the hall | |
Down the stairs | |
In a building so tall | |
That it will always be there | |
Yes, it' s part of a pair | |
There on the bow of noah' s ark | |
The most prestigious couple | |
Just kickin back parked | |
Against a perfectly blue sky | |
On a morning beatific | |
In its indian summer breeze | |
On the day that america | |
Fell to its knees | |
After strutting around for a century | |
Without saying thank you | |
Or please | |
And the shock was subsonic | |
And the smoke was deafening | |
Between the setup and the punch line | |
Cuz we were all on time for work that day | |
We all boarded that plane for to fly | |
And then while the fires were raging | |
We all climbed up on the windowsill | |
And then we all held hands | |
And jumped into the sky | |
And every borough looked up when it heard the first blast | |
And then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed | |
And the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar | |
Looked more like war than anything I' ve seen so far | |
So far | |
So far | |
So fierce and ingenious | |
A poetic specter so far gone | |
That every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling | |
Over ' oh my god' and ' this is unbelievable' and on and on | |
And I' ll tell you what, while we' re at it | |
You can keep the pentagon | |
Keep the propaganda | |
Keep each and every tv | |
That' s been trying to convince me | |
To participate | |
In some prep school punk' s plan to perpetuate retribution | |
Perpetuate retribution | |
Even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution | |
Is still hanging in the air | |
And there' s ash on our shoes | |
And there' s ash in our hair | |
And there' s a fine silt on every mantle | |
From hell' s kitchen to brooklyn | |
And the streets are full of stories | |
Sudden twists and near misses | |
And soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters | |
With tales of narrowly averted disasters | |
And the whiskey is flowin | |
Like never before | |
As all over the country | |
Folks just shake their heads | |
And pour | |
So here' s a toast to all the folks who live in palestine | |
Afghanistan | |
Iraq | |
El Salvador | |
Here' s a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation | |
Under the stone cold gaze of mt. rushmore | |
Here' s a toast to all those nurses and doctors | |
Who daily provide women with a choice | |
Who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city | |
Just to listen to a young woman' s voice | |
Here' s a toast to all the folks on death row right now | |
Awaiting the executioner' s guillotine | |
Who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads | |
To find peace in the form of a dream | |
Cuz take away our playstations | |
And we are a third world nation | |
Under the thumb of some blue blood royal son | |
Who stole the oval office and that phony election | |
I mean | |
It don' t take a weatherman | |
To look around and see the weather | |
Jeb said he' d deliver florida, folks | |
And boy did he ever | |
And we hold these truths to be self evident: | |
1 george w. bush is not president | |
2 america is not a true democracy | |
3 the media is not fooling me | |
Cuz I am a poem heeding hyperdistillation | |
I' ve got no room for a lie so verbose | |
I' m looking out over my whole human family | |
And I' m raising my glass in a toast | |
Here' s to our last drink of fossil fuels | |
Let us vow to get off of this sauce | |
Shoo away the swarms of commuter planes | |
And find that train ticket we lost | |
Cuz once upon a time the line followed the river | |
And peeked into all the backyards | |
And the laundry was waving | |
The graffiti was teasing us | |
From brick walls and bridges | |
We were rolling over ridges | |
Through valleys | |
Under stars | |
I dream of touring like duke ellington | |
In my own railroad car | |
I dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches | |
In a grand station aglow with grace | |
And then standing out on the platform | |
And feeling the air on my face | |
Give back the night its distant whistle | |
Give the darkness back its soul | |
Give the big oil companies the finger finally | |
And relearn how to rocknroll | |
Yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there | |
So it' s time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets | |
And clear the air | |
Get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand | |
Of someone else' s desert | |
Put it back in its pants | |
And quit the hypocritical chants of | |
Freedom forever | |
Cuz when one lone phone rang | |
In two thousand and one | |
At ten after nine | |
On nine one one | |
Which is the number we all called | |
When that lone phone rang right off the wall | |
Right off our desk and down the long hall | |
Down the long stairs | |
In a building so tall | |
That the whole world turned | |
Just to watch it fall | |
And while we' re at it | |
Remember the first time around? | |
The bomb? | |
The ryder truck? | |
The parking garage? | |
The princess that didn' t even feel the pea? | |
Remember joking around in our apartment on avenue d? | |
Can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design | |
Following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline?! | |
It was a joke, of course | |
It was a joke | |
At the time | |
And that was just a few years ago | |
So let the record show | |
That the fbi was all over that case | |
That the plot was obvious and in everybody' s face | |
And scoping that scene | |
Religiously | |
The cia | |
Or is it kgb? | |
Committing countless crimes against humanity | |
With this kind of eventuality | |
As its excuse | |
For abuse after expensive abuse | |
And it didn' t have a clue | |
Look, another window to see through | |
Way up here | |
On the 104th floor | |
Look | |
Another key | |
Another door | |
10 literal | |
90 metaphor | |
3000 some poems disguised as people | |
On an almost too perfect day | |
Should be more than pawns | |
In some asshole' s passion play | |
So now it' s your job | |
And it' s my job | |
To make it that way | |
To make sure they didn' t die in vain | |
Sshhhhhh | |
Baby listen | |
Hear the train? |