歌曲 | the hand that held me down |
歌手 | Two Gallants |
专辑 | Two Gallants |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Corvidae, Fontaine | |
Oh, the razor in your apple, the affection of your glove | |
The prison of your company, the snake oil of your love | |
The heights to which you drag me just to hurl your scorn | |
The trumpets play the livelong day, but they blow so forlorn | |
Did you hold the hand that held me down? | |
Did you laugh at my expense? | |
When there's rust upon your ragged crown | |
Who will stand at your defense? | |
And when I unveiled my weakness on your rodeo of tears | |
You stood there so vacantly, your fingers in your ears | |
And you left by the morning, with all that's left to steal | |
But every time you say farewell, there's breadcrumbs at your heels | |
Did you kiss the hand that held me down? | |
Was your kindness just pretense? | |
When there's no one left for you to clown | |
Who will stand at your defense? | |
But it's ashes Lord, it's ashes; soon we all fall down | |
You take your place among the saints, make not a single sound | |
And on the hills that held our childhood, the flowers grow there still | |
You lay beneath them pushing weeds and I guess you always will | |
Could you be the hand that held me down? | |
When I was sick with common sense | |
And now your statuettes are all torn down | |
There's no one left to lean against | |
And ever since your epitaph was splattered on my wall | |
No one comes to call. they can't stand the stench | |
But I still sing your praises every time the curtain calls | |
The burden on me falls | |
Yeah, I alone stand at your defense |
zuo qu : Corvidae, Fontaine | |
Oh, the razor in your apple, the affection of your glove | |
The prison of your company, the snake oil of your love | |
The heights to which you drag me just to hurl your scorn | |
The trumpets play the livelong day, but they blow so forlorn | |
Did you hold the hand that held me down? | |
Did you laugh at my expense? | |
When there' s rust upon your ragged crown | |
Who will stand at your defense? | |
And when I unveiled my weakness on your rodeo of tears | |
You stood there so vacantly, your fingers in your ears | |
And you left by the morning, with all that' s left to steal | |
But every time you say farewell, there' s breadcrumbs at your heels | |
Did you kiss the hand that held me down? | |
Was your kindness just pretense? | |
When there' s no one left for you to clown | |
Who will stand at your defense? | |
But it' s ashes Lord, it' s ashes soon we all fall down | |
You take your place among the saints, make not a single sound | |
And on the hills that held our childhood, the flowers grow there still | |
You lay beneath them pushing weeds and I guess you always will | |
Could you be the hand that held me down? | |
When I was sick with common sense | |
And now your statuettes are all torn down | |
There' s no one left to lean against | |
And ever since your epitaph was splattered on my wall | |
No one comes to call. they can' t stand the stench | |
But I still sing your praises every time the curtain calls | |
The burden on me falls | |
Yeah, I alone stand at your defense |
zuò qǔ : Corvidae, Fontaine | |
Oh, the razor in your apple, the affection of your glove | |
The prison of your company, the snake oil of your love | |
The heights to which you drag me just to hurl your scorn | |
The trumpets play the livelong day, but they blow so forlorn | |
Did you hold the hand that held me down? | |
Did you laugh at my expense? | |
When there' s rust upon your ragged crown | |
Who will stand at your defense? | |
And when I unveiled my weakness on your rodeo of tears | |
You stood there so vacantly, your fingers in your ears | |
And you left by the morning, with all that' s left to steal | |
But every time you say farewell, there' s breadcrumbs at your heels | |
Did you kiss the hand that held me down? | |
Was your kindness just pretense? | |
When there' s no one left for you to clown | |
Who will stand at your defense? | |
But it' s ashes Lord, it' s ashes soon we all fall down | |
You take your place among the saints, make not a single sound | |
And on the hills that held our childhood, the flowers grow there still | |
You lay beneath them pushing weeds and I guess you always will | |
Could you be the hand that held me down? | |
When I was sick with common sense | |
And now your statuettes are all torn down | |
There' s no one left to lean against | |
And ever since your epitaph was splattered on my wall | |
No one comes to call. they can' t stand the stench | |
But I still sing your praises every time the curtain calls | |
The burden on me falls | |
Yeah, I alone stand at your defense |