September 1913 歌词
| 歌曲 | September 1913 |
| 歌手 | The Waterboys |
| 专辑 | An Appointment with Mr Yeats |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : W.B. Yeats | |
| Scott-Wickham-Yeats | |
| What need you being come to sense | |
| But fumble in a greasy till | |
| And add the halfpence to the pence | |
| And prayer to shivering prayer until. | |
| You've dried the marrow from the bone | |
| For men were born to pray and save, pray and save | |
| Romantic Ireland's dead and gone | |
| It's with O'Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Yet they were of a different kind | |
| Those names that stilled your childish play | |
| They have gone about the world like wind | |
| But little time had they to pray. | |
| For whom the hangman's rope was spun | |
| And what, God help us, could they save, could they save ? | |
| Romantic Ireland's dead and gone | |
| It's with O'Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Was it for this the wild geese spread ? | |
| The grey wing upon every tide | |
| For this that all that blood was shed | |
| For this Fitzgerald died. | |
| And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone | |
| All that delirium of the brave of the brave | |
| Romantic Ireland's dead and gone | |
| It's with O'Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Yet could we turn the years again | |
| And we call those exiles as they were | |
| In all their loneliness and pain | |
| You'd cry : 'Some woman's yellow hair ..' | |
| 'Has maddened every mother's son' | |
| They weighed so lightly what they gave, what they gave | |
| But let them be, they're dead and gone | |
| They're with O'Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| But let them be, they're dead and gone | |
| They're with O'Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Romantic Ireland's dead and gone | |
| It's with O'Leary in the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave, in the grave, in the grave, in the grave. | |
| (In the grave, in the grave) | |
| (In the grave, in the grave) | |
| (In the grave, in the grave) | |
| (In the grave, in the grave) |
| zuo ci : W. B. Yeats | |
| ScottWickhamYeats | |
| What need you being come to sense | |
| But fumble in a greasy till | |
| And add the halfpence to the pence | |
| And prayer to shivering prayer until. | |
| You' ve dried the marrow from the bone | |
| For men were born to pray and save, pray and save | |
| Romantic Ireland' s dead and gone | |
| It' s with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Yet they were of a different kind | |
| Those names that stilled your childish play | |
| They have gone about the world like wind | |
| But little time had they to pray. | |
| For whom the hangman' s rope was spun | |
| And what, God help us, could they save, could they save nbsp? | |
| Romantic Ireland' s dead and gone | |
| It' s with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Was it for this the wild geese spread nbsp? | |
| The grey wing upon every tide | |
| For this that all that blood was shed | |
| For this Fitzgerald died. | |
| And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone | |
| All that delirium of the brave of the brave | |
| Romantic Ireland' s dead and gone | |
| It' s with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Yet could we turn the years again | |
| And we call those exiles as they were | |
| In all their loneliness and pain | |
| You' d cry nbsp: ' Some woman' s yellow hair ..' | |
| ' Has maddened every mother' s son' | |
| They weighed so lightly what they gave, what they gave | |
| But let them be, they' re dead and gone | |
| They' re with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| But let them be, they' re dead and gone | |
| They' re with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Romantic Ireland' s dead and gone | |
| It' s with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave, in the grave, in the grave, in the grave. | |
| In the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave |
| zuò cí : W. B. Yeats | |
| ScottWickhamYeats | |
| What need you being come to sense | |
| But fumble in a greasy till | |
| And add the halfpence to the pence | |
| And prayer to shivering prayer until. | |
| You' ve dried the marrow from the bone | |
| For men were born to pray and save, pray and save | |
| Romantic Ireland' s dead and gone | |
| It' s with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Yet they were of a different kind | |
| Those names that stilled your childish play | |
| They have gone about the world like wind | |
| But little time had they to pray. | |
| For whom the hangman' s rope was spun | |
| And what, God help us, could they save, could they save nbsp? | |
| Romantic Ireland' s dead and gone | |
| It' s with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Was it for this the wild geese spread nbsp? | |
| The grey wing upon every tide | |
| For this that all that blood was shed | |
| For this Fitzgerald died. | |
| And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone | |
| All that delirium of the brave of the brave | |
| Romantic Ireland' s dead and gone | |
| It' s with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Yet could we turn the years again | |
| And we call those exiles as they were | |
| In all their loneliness and pain | |
| You' d cry nbsp: ' Some woman' s yellow hair ..' | |
| ' Has maddened every mother' s son' | |
| They weighed so lightly what they gave, what they gave | |
| But let them be, they' re dead and gone | |
| They' re with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| But let them be, they' re dead and gone | |
| They' re with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave. | |
| Romantic Ireland' s dead and gone | |
| It' s with O' Leary in the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave, in the grave, in the grave, in the grave. | |
| In the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave | |
| In the grave, in the grave |
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