| 作曲 : Fog | |
| My supervisor slid, | |
| his skin squeaking down, | |
| past my plate glass window | |
| forty floors above the ground. | |
| And as he passed my desk, | |
| eyes level with mine, | |
| Asked me "how's the report coming?" | |
| I reply, "just fine." | |
| But I'm lying | |
| But I'm lying | |
| And we both know it | |
| And we both know it | |
| And can't escape it | |
| It's Ancient... | |
| My supervisor says, | |
| "Let's backdate ourselves, | |
| Let our stunned hands turn to dumb stone, | |
| refinance ourselves." | |
| And when the signed names glow, constellational | |
| in a vine knot, luminescent underneath the cold... | |
| the cold lamp of the old moon, | |
| we will have vanished! | |
| We will have vanished! | |
| The current come undone | |
| within such choked wholes, | |
| unfinished. |
| zuo qu : Fog | |
| My supervisor slid, | |
| his skin squeaking down, | |
| past my plate glass window | |
| forty floors above the ground. | |
| And as he passed my desk, | |
| eyes level with mine, | |
| Asked me " how' s the report coming?" | |
| I reply, " just fine." | |
| But I' m lying | |
| But I' m lying | |
| And we both know it | |
| And we both know it | |
| And can' t escape it | |
| It' s Ancient... | |
| My supervisor says, | |
| " Let' s backdate ourselves, | |
| Let our stunned hands turn to dumb stone, | |
| refinance ourselves." | |
| And when the signed names glow, constellational | |
| in a vine knot, luminescent underneath the cold... | |
| the cold lamp of the old moon, | |
| we will have vanished! | |
| We will have vanished! | |
| The current come undone | |
| within such choked wholes, | |
| unfinished. |
| zuò qǔ : Fog | |
| My supervisor slid, | |
| his skin squeaking down, | |
| past my plate glass window | |
| forty floors above the ground. | |
| And as he passed my desk, | |
| eyes level with mine, | |
| Asked me " how' s the report coming?" | |
| I reply, " just fine." | |
| But I' m lying | |
| But I' m lying | |
| And we both know it | |
| And we both know it | |
| And can' t escape it | |
| It' s Ancient... | |
| My supervisor says, | |
| " Let' s backdate ourselves, | |
| Let our stunned hands turn to dumb stone, | |
| refinance ourselves." | |
| And when the signed names glow, constellational | |
| in a vine knot, luminescent underneath the cold... | |
| the cold lamp of the old moon, | |
| we will have vanished! | |
| We will have vanished! | |
| The current come undone | |
| within such choked wholes, | |
| unfinished. |
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