歌曲 | Wilted Daisies |
歌手 | Joshua James |
专辑 | Build Me This (Bonus Track Version) |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
Pretty, pretty wilted daisies all in a row | |
On the top of Mt. Vernon in the dirty snow | |
Where the shadows sing of sunshine like a dying snow | |
Pretty, pretty wilted daisies all in a row | |
You’re waving high into the night time of a New York street | |
Your newly painted yellow taxi has dirty seats | |
You’re racing quick into the nightclub, so that you can see | |
The same old sick and sadly strangers always seem to meet | |
Cause it’s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
It’s a rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It’s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
Well, your hand begins to slip or they cut and either way you drop | |
Your small apartment is a mess but you don’t seem to care | |
The dirty dishes in the corner go with the broken chairs | |
And higher grows the stack of bills that calmly declare | |
If you don’t pay within a week then your shit is theirs | |
You go to work Monday through Sunday, open to close | |
The seven dollars that they pay you, son, is good as a broken nose | |
When no one’s watching, pull your pants down, touch your toes | |
You’re undercut and you’re exploited but that’s how our country grows | |
Cause it’s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
It’s a rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It’s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
And your hand begins to slip or they cut | |
Either way you take what they have stolen | |
Or try to break what can’t be broken | |
You can speak what you believe | |
But every thought comes preconceived | |
You try to wash your hands to this | |
Clear your conscience and dismiss | |
Pretend our problems don’t exist | |
We’re taking aspirin for a broken wrist | |
Cause it’s a long, long way to the top | |
Oh, it’s your rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It’s a long, long way to the top | |
Well, our hands begin to slip or they cut, either way we |
Pretty, pretty wilted daisies all in a row | |
On the top of Mt. Vernon in the dirty snow | |
Where the shadows sing of sunshine like a dying snow | |
Pretty, pretty wilted daisies all in a row | |
You' re waving high into the night time of a New York street | |
Your newly painted yellow taxi has dirty seats | |
You' re racing quick into the nightclub, so that you can see | |
The same old sick and sadly strangers always seem to meet | |
Cause it' s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
It' s a rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It' s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
Well, your hand begins to slip or they cut and either way you drop | |
Your small apartment is a mess but you don' t seem to care | |
The dirty dishes in the corner go with the broken chairs | |
And higher grows the stack of bills that calmly declare | |
If you don' t pay within a week then your shit is theirs | |
You go to work Monday through Sunday, open to close | |
The seven dollars that they pay you, son, is good as a broken nose | |
When no one' s watching, pull your pants down, touch your toes | |
You' re undercut and you' re exploited but that' s how our country grows | |
Cause it' s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
It' s a rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It' s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
And your hand begins to slip or they cut | |
Either way you take what they have stolen | |
Or try to break what can' t be broken | |
You can speak what you believe | |
But every thought comes preconceived | |
You try to wash your hands to this | |
Clear your conscience and dismiss | |
Pretend our problems don' t exist | |
We' re taking aspirin for a broken wrist | |
Cause it' s a long, long way to the top | |
Oh, it' s your rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It' s a long, long way to the top | |
Well, our hands begin to slip or they cut, either way we |
Pretty, pretty wilted daisies all in a row | |
On the top of Mt. Vernon in the dirty snow | |
Where the shadows sing of sunshine like a dying snow | |
Pretty, pretty wilted daisies all in a row | |
You' re waving high into the night time of a New York street | |
Your newly painted yellow taxi has dirty seats | |
You' re racing quick into the nightclub, so that you can see | |
The same old sick and sadly strangers always seem to meet | |
Cause it' s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
It' s a rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It' s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
Well, your hand begins to slip or they cut and either way you drop | |
Your small apartment is a mess but you don' t seem to care | |
The dirty dishes in the corner go with the broken chairs | |
And higher grows the stack of bills that calmly declare | |
If you don' t pay within a week then your shit is theirs | |
You go to work Monday through Sunday, open to close | |
The seven dollars that they pay you, son, is good as a broken nose | |
When no one' s watching, pull your pants down, touch your toes | |
You' re undercut and you' re exploited but that' s how our country grows | |
Cause it' s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
It' s a rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It' s a long way to and a short ride from the top | |
And your hand begins to slip or they cut | |
Either way you take what they have stolen | |
Or try to break what can' t be broken | |
You can speak what you believe | |
But every thought comes preconceived | |
You try to wash your hands to this | |
Clear your conscience and dismiss | |
Pretend our problems don' t exist | |
We' re taking aspirin for a broken wrist | |
Cause it' s a long, long way to the top | |
Oh, it' s your rotting middle finger and the cancer will not stop | |
It' s a long, long way to the top | |
Well, our hands begin to slip or they cut, either way we |