歌曲 | Worry Too Much |
歌手 | Buddy Miller |
专辑 | Universal United House of Prayer |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Heard | |
(Mark Heard) | |
it's the demolition derby | |
it's the sport of the hunt | |
proud tribe in full war-dance | |
it's the slow smile that the bully gives the runt | |
it's the force of inertia | |
it's the lack of constraint | |
it's the children out playing in the rock garden | |
all dolled-up in black hats and war paint | |
sometimes it feels like bars of steel | |
i cannot bend with my hands | |
oh - i worry too much | |
somebody told me that i worry too much | |
it's these sandpaper eyes | |
it's the way they rub the luster from what is seen | |
it's the way we tell ourselves that all these things are normal | |
till we can't remember what we mean | |
it's the flicker of our flames | |
it's the friction born of living | |
it's the way we beat a hot retreat | |
and heave our smoking guns into the river | |
sometimes it feels like bars of steel | |
i cannot bend with my hands | |
oh - i worry too much | |
somebody told me that i worry too much | |
it's the quick-step march of history | |
the vanity of nations | |
it's the way there'll be no muffled drums | |
to mark the passage of my generation | |
it's the children of my children | |
it's the lambs born in innocence | |
it's wondering if the good i know | |
will last to be seen by the eyes of the little ones |
zuo qu : Heard | |
Mark Heard | |
it' s the demolition derby | |
it' s the sport of the hunt | |
proud tribe in full wardance | |
it' s the slow smile that the bully gives the runt | |
it' s the force of inertia | |
it' s the lack of constraint | |
it' s the children out playing in the rock garden | |
all dolledup in black hats and war paint | |
sometimes it feels like bars of steel | |
i cannot bend with my hands | |
oh i worry too much | |
somebody told me that i worry too much | |
it' s these sandpaper eyes | |
it' s the way they rub the luster from what is seen | |
it' s the way we tell ourselves that all these things are normal | |
till we can' t remember what we mean | |
it' s the flicker of our flames | |
it' s the friction born of living | |
it' s the way we beat a hot retreat | |
and heave our smoking guns into the river | |
sometimes it feels like bars of steel | |
i cannot bend with my hands | |
oh i worry too much | |
somebody told me that i worry too much | |
it' s the quickstep march of history | |
the vanity of nations | |
it' s the way there' ll be no muffled drums | |
to mark the passage of my generation | |
it' s the children of my children | |
it' s the lambs born in innocence | |
it' s wondering if the good i know | |
will last to be seen by the eyes of the little ones |
zuò qǔ : Heard | |
Mark Heard | |
it' s the demolition derby | |
it' s the sport of the hunt | |
proud tribe in full wardance | |
it' s the slow smile that the bully gives the runt | |
it' s the force of inertia | |
it' s the lack of constraint | |
it' s the children out playing in the rock garden | |
all dolledup in black hats and war paint | |
sometimes it feels like bars of steel | |
i cannot bend with my hands | |
oh i worry too much | |
somebody told me that i worry too much | |
it' s these sandpaper eyes | |
it' s the way they rub the luster from what is seen | |
it' s the way we tell ourselves that all these things are normal | |
till we can' t remember what we mean | |
it' s the flicker of our flames | |
it' s the friction born of living | |
it' s the way we beat a hot retreat | |
and heave our smoking guns into the river | |
sometimes it feels like bars of steel | |
i cannot bend with my hands | |
oh i worry too much | |
somebody told me that i worry too much | |
it' s the quickstep march of history | |
the vanity of nations | |
it' s the way there' ll be no muffled drums | |
to mark the passage of my generation | |
it' s the children of my children | |
it' s the lambs born in innocence | |
it' s wondering if the good i know | |
will last to be seen by the eyes of the little ones |