Until The Day Burns Down 歌词

歌曲	Until The Day Burns Down
歌手	Chamberlain
专辑	The Moon My Saddle
下载	Image LRC TXT

	作曲 : Moore, Rubenstein
	Winter comes hunting like a wolf on the wind,
	and the lovers lie unknowing in their beds.
	It won't be long before the cold and the snow
	kill off the flowering armies that summer's led.
	You dig for your last smoke as the highway leads you home,
	and this day's going down in a flame.
	And evening is a reminder of the beauty of the end
	and that the end might be the reason why we came.
	Night's handing silence to the hillsides where you walk,
	but you want that deeper silence that stays up in them hills.
	The field is a lover with her colors at your knees
	but you know there are stranger flowers still.
	And somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain could: "I'll be back again."
	But as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can't go in...
	Until the day burns down.
	We live the long walk of a question, my friends.
	I think about my sister out in the rain;
	and all the heroes I know that she'll never find,
	and that she'll never leave as perfect as she came.
	My mind is a symphony in the dark
	and my heart is an old museum
	with all of these memories that I keep.
	I got to get back to where the sun raised the flowers
	and the flowers they raise me.
	And somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain cloud: "I'll be back again."
	But as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can't go in...
	Until the day burns down.
	Winter comes hunting like a wolf on the wind,
	and the lovers lie unknowing in their beds.
	It won't be long before the cold and the snow
	kill off the flowering armies that summer's led.
	You dig for your last smoke as the highway leads you home,
	and this day's going down in a flame.
	And evening is a reminder of the beauty of the end
	and that the end might be the reason why we came.
	If I could hang the stars up,
	I'd hang 'em up one by one,
	to leave this world with something my hands made.
	And when that sun came up and made 'em all disappear
	I'd know my work was real, because nothing real can stay.
	somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain cloud: "I'll be back again."
	And as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can't go in...
	Until the day burns down.

	zuo qu : Moore, Rubenstein
	Winter comes hunting like a wolf on the wind,
	and the lovers lie unknowing in their beds.
	It won' t be long before the cold and the snow
	kill off the flowering armies that summer' s led.
	You dig for your last smoke as the highway leads you home,
	and this day' s going down in a flame.
	And evening is a reminder of the beauty of the end
	and that the end might be the reason why we came.
	Night' s handing silence to the hillsides where you walk,
	but you want that deeper silence that stays up in them hills.
	The field is a lover with her colors at your knees
	but you know there are stranger flowers still.
	And somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain could: " I' ll be back again."
	But as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can' t go in...
	Until the day burns down.
	We live the long walk of a question, my friends.
	I think about my sister out in the rain
	and all the heroes I know that she' ll never find,
	and that she' ll never leave as perfect as she came.
	My mind is a symphony in the dark
	and my heart is an old museum
	with all of these memories that I keep.
	I got to get back to where the sun raised the flowers
	and the flowers they raise me.
	And somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain cloud: " I' ll be back again."
	But as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can' t go in...
	Until the day burns down.
	Winter comes hunting like a wolf on the wind,
	and the lovers lie unknowing in their beds.
	It won' t be long before the cold and the snow
	kill off the flowering armies that summer' s led.
	You dig for your last smoke as the highway leads you home,
	and this day' s going down in a flame.
	And evening is a reminder of the beauty of the end
	and that the end might be the reason why we came.
	If I could hang the stars up,
	I' d hang ' em up one by one,
	to leave this world with something my hands made.
	And when that sun came up and made ' em all disappear
	I' d know my work was real, because nothing real can stay.
	somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain cloud: " I' ll be back again."
	And as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can' t go in...
	Until the day burns down.

	zuò qǔ : Moore, Rubenstein
	Winter comes hunting like a wolf on the wind,
	and the lovers lie unknowing in their beds.
	It won' t be long before the cold and the snow
	kill off the flowering armies that summer' s led.
	You dig for your last smoke as the highway leads you home,
	and this day' s going down in a flame.
	And evening is a reminder of the beauty of the end
	and that the end might be the reason why we came.
	Night' s handing silence to the hillsides where you walk,
	but you want that deeper silence that stays up in them hills.
	The field is a lover with her colors at your knees
	but you know there are stranger flowers still.
	And somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain could: " I' ll be back again."
	But as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can' t go in...
	Until the day burns down.
	We live the long walk of a question, my friends.
	I think about my sister out in the rain
	and all the heroes I know that she' ll never find,
	and that she' ll never leave as perfect as she came.
	My mind is a symphony in the dark
	and my heart is an old museum
	with all of these memories that I keep.
	I got to get back to where the sun raised the flowers
	and the flowers they raise me.
	And somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain cloud: " I' ll be back again."
	But as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can' t go in...
	Until the day burns down.
	Winter comes hunting like a wolf on the wind,
	and the lovers lie unknowing in their beds.
	It won' t be long before the cold and the snow
	kill off the flowering armies that summer' s led.
	You dig for your last smoke as the highway leads you home,
	and this day' s going down in a flame.
	And evening is a reminder of the beauty of the end
	and that the end might be the reason why we came.
	If I could hang the stars up,
	I' d hang ' em up one by one,
	to leave this world with something my hands made.
	And when that sun came up and made ' em all disappear
	I' d know my work was real, because nothing real can stay.
	somehow you tell yourself that,
	like a rain cloud: " I' ll be back again."
	And as you pull up to your house
	you know that you can' t go in...
	Until the day burns down.

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