歌曲 | Cold Hate, Warm Blood |
歌手 | Cryptopsy |
专辑 | None So Live |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Cryptopsy, Lord Worm | |
Cold Hate, Warm Blood | |
Late last night at rest with my mate | |
I'm visited by a victim of hate | |
A spectoral group, yet they're one and the same | |
They would never live | |
Nor would they have a name | |
A baby too young to walk or to talk | |
Rocked to sleep with a big, heavy rock | |
Becomes a tot with a baleful glare | |
Sucked from life by a shortage of air | |
A child beyond time without gender | |
Metamorphing to surrender | |
Each shape for one older and still | |
No end to how each could be killed | |
By chance in the polyverse i'm all of these | |
Each to fall prey with unnerving ease | |
To who knows which ambiguous marasmus | |
It asked at once knowing | |
And unknowing the answers | |
To things far removed from my experience | |
Or need to know and thus it thanked me | |
For sparing it death's multiplicitous masques | |
And life's thankless laborious tasks | |
January, child born alas | |
February, still still frail as glass | |
March through a formative period you must | |
April child, in god, distrusts | |
May comes and goes and shortlived is the hope | |
June is the halfway mark of your rope | |
July child fears end of time | |
August child in slow decline | |
September, sense starts to fail | |
October's child, the burden ails | |
November's child malingers on | |
December's child is dead and gone |
zuo ci : Cryptopsy, Lord Worm | |
Cold Hate, Warm Blood | |
Late last night at rest with my mate | |
I' m visited by a victim of hate | |
A spectoral group, yet they' re one and the same | |
They would never live | |
Nor would they have a name | |
A baby too young to walk or to talk | |
Rocked to sleep with a big, heavy rock | |
Becomes a tot with a baleful glare | |
Sucked from life by a shortage of air | |
A child beyond time without gender | |
Metamorphing to surrender | |
Each shape for one older and still | |
No end to how each could be killed | |
By chance in the polyverse i' m all of these | |
Each to fall prey with unnerving ease | |
To who knows which ambiguous marasmus | |
It asked at once knowing | |
And unknowing the answers | |
To things far removed from my experience | |
Or need to know and thus it thanked me | |
For sparing it death' s multiplicitous masques | |
And life' s thankless laborious tasks | |
January, child born alas | |
February, still still frail as glass | |
March through a formative period you must | |
April child, in god, distrusts | |
May comes and goes and shortlived is the hope | |
June is the halfway mark of your rope | |
July child fears end of time | |
August child in slow decline | |
September, sense starts to fail | |
October' s child, the burden ails | |
November' s child malingers on | |
December' s child is dead and gone |
zuò cí : Cryptopsy, Lord Worm | |
Cold Hate, Warm Blood | |
Late last night at rest with my mate | |
I' m visited by a victim of hate | |
A spectoral group, yet they' re one and the same | |
They would never live | |
Nor would they have a name | |
A baby too young to walk or to talk | |
Rocked to sleep with a big, heavy rock | |
Becomes a tot with a baleful glare | |
Sucked from life by a shortage of air | |
A child beyond time without gender | |
Metamorphing to surrender | |
Each shape for one older and still | |
No end to how each could be killed | |
By chance in the polyverse i' m all of these | |
Each to fall prey with unnerving ease | |
To who knows which ambiguous marasmus | |
It asked at once knowing | |
And unknowing the answers | |
To things far removed from my experience | |
Or need to know and thus it thanked me | |
For sparing it death' s multiplicitous masques | |
And life' s thankless laborious tasks | |
January, child born alas | |
February, still still frail as glass | |
March through a formative period you must | |
April child, in god, distrusts | |
May comes and goes and shortlived is the hope | |
June is the halfway mark of your rope | |
July child fears end of time | |
August child in slow decline | |
September, sense starts to fail | |
October' s child, the burden ails | |
November' s child malingers on | |
December' s child is dead and gone |