歌曲 | Third Week in the Chelsea |
歌手 | Jefferson Airplane |
专辑 | 2400 Fulton Street |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Kaukonen | |
Third Week in the | |
Chelseaby | |
Jorma Kaukonen | |
Sometimes | |
I feel like i am leaving life behind | |
My hands are moving faster than the movement of my mind | |
Thoughts and generations of my dreams are yet unborn | |
So we go on moving trying to make this image real | |
I hope that | |
I will find them 'fore my moving gets too worn | |
Straining every nerve not knowing what we really feel | |
If only I could live to see the dawning of the dawn | |
Straining every nerve ending and everybody sees | |
That what they read in the | |
Rolling Stone has really come to be | |
And trying to avoid a taste of that reality | |
Showed to me a face | |
I didn't know at all | |
On an early | |
New York mornin' a mirror in the hall | |
When I looked into the mouth there was nothing left inside | |
Lines were drawn around a pair of eyes that opened wide | |
So I walked into the little room and whistled like a sigh | |
As dawn light closed around me my head was still in gear | |
Thinking thoughts of playing more and singing loud and clear | |
Trying to reach a friend somewhere and make that person smile | |
Maybe pull myself away from that old lonesome mile | |
That often comes to haunt me in the morning | |
All my friends keep telling me that it would be a shame | |
To break up such a grand success and tear apart a name | |
Emptiness ain't where it's at and neither's feeling pain | |
Time is getting late now and the sun is getting low | |
But all I know is what | |
I feel whenever | |
I'm not playin' | |
Well now what is going to happen now is anybody's guess | |
If I can't spend my time with love | |
I guess I need a rest | |
And sunshine's waiting for me a little further down the road | |
My body's getting tired of carryin' another's load |
zuo ci : Kaukonen | |
Third Week in the | |
Chelseaby | |
Jorma Kaukonen | |
Sometimes | |
I feel like i am leaving life behind | |
My hands are moving faster than the movement of my mind | |
Thoughts and generations of my dreams are yet unborn | |
So we go on moving trying to make this image real | |
I hope that | |
I will find them ' fore my moving gets too worn | |
Straining every nerve not knowing what we really feel | |
If only I could live to see the dawning of the dawn | |
Straining every nerve ending and everybody sees | |
That what they read in the | |
Rolling Stone has really come to be | |
And trying to avoid a taste of that reality | |
Showed to me a face | |
I didn' t know at all | |
On an early | |
New York mornin' a mirror in the hall | |
When I looked into the mouth there was nothing left inside | |
Lines were drawn around a pair of eyes that opened wide | |
So I walked into the little room and whistled like a sigh | |
As dawn light closed around me my head was still in gear | |
Thinking thoughts of playing more and singing loud and clear | |
Trying to reach a friend somewhere and make that person smile | |
Maybe pull myself away from that old lonesome mile | |
That often comes to haunt me in the morning | |
All my friends keep telling me that it would be a shame | |
To break up such a grand success and tear apart a name | |
Emptiness ain' t where it' s at and neither' s feeling pain | |
Time is getting late now and the sun is getting low | |
But all I know is what | |
I feel whenever | |
I' m not playin' | |
Well now what is going to happen now is anybody' s guess | |
If I can' t spend my time with love | |
I guess I need a rest | |
And sunshine' s waiting for me a little further down the road | |
My body' s getting tired of carryin' another' s load |
zuò cí : Kaukonen | |
Third Week in the | |
Chelseaby | |
Jorma Kaukonen | |
Sometimes | |
I feel like i am leaving life behind | |
My hands are moving faster than the movement of my mind | |
Thoughts and generations of my dreams are yet unborn | |
So we go on moving trying to make this image real | |
I hope that | |
I will find them ' fore my moving gets too worn | |
Straining every nerve not knowing what we really feel | |
If only I could live to see the dawning of the dawn | |
Straining every nerve ending and everybody sees | |
That what they read in the | |
Rolling Stone has really come to be | |
And trying to avoid a taste of that reality | |
Showed to me a face | |
I didn' t know at all | |
On an early | |
New York mornin' a mirror in the hall | |
When I looked into the mouth there was nothing left inside | |
Lines were drawn around a pair of eyes that opened wide | |
So I walked into the little room and whistled like a sigh | |
As dawn light closed around me my head was still in gear | |
Thinking thoughts of playing more and singing loud and clear | |
Trying to reach a friend somewhere and make that person smile | |
Maybe pull myself away from that old lonesome mile | |
That often comes to haunt me in the morning | |
All my friends keep telling me that it would be a shame | |
To break up such a grand success and tear apart a name | |
Emptiness ain' t where it' s at and neither' s feeling pain | |
Time is getting late now and the sun is getting low | |
But all I know is what | |
I feel whenever | |
I' m not playin' | |
Well now what is going to happen now is anybody' s guess | |
If I can' t spend my time with love | |
I guess I need a rest | |
And sunshine' s waiting for me a little further down the road | |
My body' s getting tired of carryin' another' s load |