So You're a Touring Band Now - normal 歌词
| 歌曲 | So You're a Touring Band Now - normal |
| 歌手 | Dolorean |
| 专辑 | Not Exotic |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : James | |
| Blow in through the door | |
| Like a ghost that is nice | |
| My crosshairs align and my grip is tight | |
| My friends are bullets | |
| That I shot at tin cans | |
| No feathers no wings | |
| No feet and no beaks | |
| And no place to land | |
| No place to land | |
| When you finally come home | |
| Don't be surprised | |
| If there's rust in my throat and red in my eyes | |
| My friends are knives | |
| That cut out my tongue | |
| No songs and no beats no words left to speak | |
| Just utters and grunts | |
| Utters and grunts | |
| Drive ten thousand miles | |
| Just to tear off your arm | |
| Just to play the guitar and recite a poem | |
| My friends are bottles | |
| That I dropped on the ground | |
| They shatter and break | |
| And they always take | |
| Too long to come home | |
| Too long to come home |
| zuo qu : James | |
| Blow in through the door | |
| Like a ghost that is nice | |
| My crosshairs align and my grip is tight | |
| My friends are bullets | |
| That I shot at tin cans | |
| No feathers no wings | |
| No feet and no beaks | |
| And no place to land | |
| No place to land | |
| When you finally come home | |
| Don' t be surprised | |
| If there' s rust in my throat and red in my eyes | |
| My friends are knives | |
| That cut out my tongue | |
| No songs and no beats no words left to speak | |
| Just utters and grunts | |
| Utters and grunts | |
| Drive ten thousand miles | |
| Just to tear off your arm | |
| Just to play the guitar and recite a poem | |
| My friends are bottles | |
| That I dropped on the ground | |
| They shatter and break | |
| And they always take | |
| Too long to come home | |
| Too long to come home |
| zuò qǔ : James | |
| Blow in through the door | |
| Like a ghost that is nice | |
| My crosshairs align and my grip is tight | |
| My friends are bullets | |
| That I shot at tin cans | |
| No feathers no wings | |
| No feet and no beaks | |
| And no place to land | |
| No place to land | |
| When you finally come home | |
| Don' t be surprised | |
| If there' s rust in my throat and red in my eyes | |
| My friends are knives | |
| That cut out my tongue | |
| No songs and no beats no words left to speak | |
| Just utters and grunts | |
| Utters and grunts | |
| Drive ten thousand miles | |
| Just to tear off your arm | |
| Just to play the guitar and recite a poem | |
| My friends are bottles | |
| That I dropped on the ground | |
| They shatter and break | |
| And they always take | |
| Too long to come home | |
| Too long to come home |
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