歌曲 | Not So Soft |
歌手 | Ani DiFranco |
专辑 | Like I Said |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Difranco | |
In a forest of stone | |
Underneath the corporate canopy | |
Where the sun rarely filters down | |
The ground is not so soft, not so soft | |
They build buildings to house people making money | |
Or they build buildings to make money off of housing people | |
It's true, like a lot of things are true | |
I am foraging for a phone booth on the forest floor that is not so soft | |
I look up, it looks like the buildings are burning | |
But it's just the sun setting | |
The solar system calling an end | |
To another business day | |
Eternally circling, signally | |
The rhythmic clicking on and off of computers | |
The pulse of the | |
American machine | |
The pulse that draws death dancing out of anonymous side streets | |
You know the ones that always get dumped on | |
And never get plowed | |
It draws death dancing out of little countries with funny languages | |
Where the ground is getting harder and it was not that soft before | |
Those who call the shots are never in the line of fire, why | |
Where there's life for hire | |
Out there if a flag of truth were raised we could watch every liar | |
Rise to wave it here | |
We learn America like a script | |
Playwright, birthright, same thing | |
We bring ourselves to the role | |
We're all rehearsing for the presidency | |
I always wanted to be commander in chief | |
Of my one woman army | |
But I can envision the mediocrity of my finest hour | |
It's the failed | |
America in me | |
It's the fear that lives in a forest of stone | |
Underneath the corporate canopy | |
Where the sun rarely filters down | |
And the ground is not so soft |
zuo ci : Difranco | |
In a forest of stone | |
Underneath the corporate canopy | |
Where the sun rarely filters down | |
The ground is not so soft, not so soft | |
They build buildings to house people making money | |
Or they build buildings to make money off of housing people | |
It' s true, like a lot of things are true | |
I am foraging for a phone booth on the forest floor that is not so soft | |
I look up, it looks like the buildings are burning | |
But it' s just the sun setting | |
The solar system calling an end | |
To another business day | |
Eternally circling, signally | |
The rhythmic clicking on and off of computers | |
The pulse of the | |
American machine | |
The pulse that draws death dancing out of anonymous side streets | |
You know the ones that always get dumped on | |
And never get plowed | |
It draws death dancing out of little countries with funny languages | |
Where the ground is getting harder and it was not that soft before | |
Those who call the shots are never in the line of fire, why | |
Where there' s life for hire | |
Out there if a flag of truth were raised we could watch every liar | |
Rise to wave it here | |
We learn America like a script | |
Playwright, birthright, same thing | |
We bring ourselves to the role | |
We' re all rehearsing for the presidency | |
I always wanted to be commander in chief | |
Of my one woman army | |
But I can envision the mediocrity of my finest hour | |
It' s the failed | |
America in me | |
It' s the fear that lives in a forest of stone | |
Underneath the corporate canopy | |
Where the sun rarely filters down | |
And the ground is not so soft |
zuò cí : Difranco | |
In a forest of stone | |
Underneath the corporate canopy | |
Where the sun rarely filters down | |
The ground is not so soft, not so soft | |
They build buildings to house people making money | |
Or they build buildings to make money off of housing people | |
It' s true, like a lot of things are true | |
I am foraging for a phone booth on the forest floor that is not so soft | |
I look up, it looks like the buildings are burning | |
But it' s just the sun setting | |
The solar system calling an end | |
To another business day | |
Eternally circling, signally | |
The rhythmic clicking on and off of computers | |
The pulse of the | |
American machine | |
The pulse that draws death dancing out of anonymous side streets | |
You know the ones that always get dumped on | |
And never get plowed | |
It draws death dancing out of little countries with funny languages | |
Where the ground is getting harder and it was not that soft before | |
Those who call the shots are never in the line of fire, why | |
Where there' s life for hire | |
Out there if a flag of truth were raised we could watch every liar | |
Rise to wave it here | |
We learn America like a script | |
Playwright, birthright, same thing | |
We bring ourselves to the role | |
We' re all rehearsing for the presidency | |
I always wanted to be commander in chief | |
Of my one woman army | |
But I can envision the mediocrity of my finest hour | |
It' s the failed | |
America in me | |
It' s the fear that lives in a forest of stone | |
Underneath the corporate canopy | |
Where the sun rarely filters down | |
And the ground is not so soft |