| 歌曲 | The Lovesong Writer |
| 歌手 | Thursday |
| 专辑 | A City By The Light Divided |
| 作词 : Rickly, Thursday | |
| Sitting alone in the dark of a stadium | |
| He whispers his secrets into a cheap guitar | |
| With the flick of his wrist he turns words into melodies | |
| Chords into church bells, fill up the allies | |
| Lovers entwine in the heat of the night | |
| And by dawn are apart in the shivering silences | |
| We will pretend | |
| That it is all just made up | |
| The song that he writes | |
| Are too personal | |
| He can't play them for anyone | |
| When he's all alone | |
| The lovesong writer sings | |
| Oh, can anyone hear me now? | |
| No one hears at all | |
| So he stumbles through syllables, cut from their sentences | |
| Lost letters call to him, deep in the alphabet | |
| Please give us meaning | |
| And pose for me now | |
| You're the broken heart | |
| You're the sigh in the back of the throat | |
| And on the other side | |
| You're the queen of spades | |
| You're the sound that she makes on her way | |
| There's always a way out | |
| There's always a way out | |
| When he's all alone | |
| The lovesong writer sings | |
| Oh, can anyone hear me now? | |
| But no one hears at all | |
| The lovesong writer sits | |
| All aloneWhen he hears the sound | |
| Of the knock at the door | |
| Fifty red roses falling apart | |
| In the hands of someone that you scraped in and left behind | |
| All of the others strolled up and now showed up at your door | |
| Staring you down, they said | |
| Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now | |
| Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now | |
| Yeah yeah, yeah yeah |
| zuò cí : Rickly, Thursday | |
| Sitting alone in the dark of a stadium | |
| He whispers his secrets into a cheap guitar | |
| With the flick of his wrist he turns words into melodies | |
| Chords into church bells, fill up the allies | |
| Lovers entwine in the heat of the night | |
| And by dawn are apart in the shivering silences | |
| We will pretend | |
| That it is all just made up | |
| The song that he writes | |
| Are too personal | |
| He can' t play them for anyone | |
| When he' s all alone | |
| The lovesong writer sings | |
| Oh, can anyone hear me now? | |
| No one hears at all | |
| So he stumbles through syllables, cut from their sentences | |
| Lost letters call to him, deep in the alphabet | |
| Please give us meaning | |
| And pose for me now | |
| You' re the broken heart | |
| You' re the sigh in the back of the throat | |
| And on the other side | |
| You' re the queen of spades | |
| You' re the sound that she makes on her way | |
| There' s always a way out | |
| There' s always a way out | |
| When he' s all alone | |
| The lovesong writer sings | |
| Oh, can anyone hear me now? | |
| But no one hears at all | |
| The lovesong writer sits | |
| All aloneWhen he hears the sound | |
| Of the knock at the door | |
| Fifty red roses falling apart | |
| In the hands of someone that you scraped in and left behind | |
| All of the others strolled up and now showed up at your door | |
| Staring you down, they said | |
| Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now | |
| Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now | |
| Yeah yeah, yeah yeah |