歌曲 | Undone |
歌手 | Peter Hammill |
专辑 | Thin Air |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
I mark the high days and the holidays | |
red-letter on the page; | |
fast-forward into memory, | |
prepare to be upstaged. | |
The envelopes I push against | |
so rapidly become | |
a wrap to keep me safe and warm | |
but soon enough I'll be undone. | |
And if, for instance, I had spent a lifetime | |
in the service of cleanliness and godliness | |
I'd still be washed up now. | |
My history doesn't make much sense, | |
no corner has been turned. | |
The future's brooding and immense | |
and everything I've learned | |
seems tiny in the scheme of things, | |
the reckoning's begun – | |
I hold together what I can, | |
the stitches bound to come undone. | |
And, for example, if I'd spent a lifetime | |
in pursuit of miraculously common sense | |
I'd still feel stupid now. | |
I'm waiting on a final clue, | |
a final validation | |
of what I did, of what I hid, | |
of all I called my own. | |
Our high days and our holidays | |
are numbered, every one. | |
So quick the hours rush away | |
and everything we've left's undone. |
I mark the high days and the holidays | |
redletter on the page | |
fastforward into memory, | |
prepare to be upstaged. | |
The envelopes I push against | |
so rapidly become | |
a wrap to keep me safe and warm | |
but soon enough I' ll be undone. | |
And if, for instance, I had spent a lifetime | |
in the service of cleanliness and godliness | |
I' d still be washed up now. | |
My history doesn' t make much sense, | |
no corner has been turned. | |
The future' s brooding and immense | |
and everything I' ve learned | |
seems tiny in the scheme of things, | |
the reckoning' s begun | |
I hold together what I can, | |
the stitches bound to come undone. | |
And, for example, if I' d spent a lifetime | |
in pursuit of miraculously common sense | |
I' d still feel stupid now. | |
I' m waiting on a final clue, | |
a final validation | |
of what I did, of what I hid, | |
of all I called my own. | |
Our high days and our holidays | |
are numbered, every one. | |
So quick the hours rush away | |
and everything we' ve left' s undone. |
I mark the high days and the holidays | |
redletter on the page | |
fastforward into memory, | |
prepare to be upstaged. | |
The envelopes I push against | |
so rapidly become | |
a wrap to keep me safe and warm | |
but soon enough I' ll be undone. | |
And if, for instance, I had spent a lifetime | |
in the service of cleanliness and godliness | |
I' d still be washed up now. | |
My history doesn' t make much sense, | |
no corner has been turned. | |
The future' s brooding and immense | |
and everything I' ve learned | |
seems tiny in the scheme of things, | |
the reckoning' s begun | |
I hold together what I can, | |
the stitches bound to come undone. | |
And, for example, if I' d spent a lifetime | |
in pursuit of miraculously common sense | |
I' d still feel stupid now. | |
I' m waiting on a final clue, | |
a final validation | |
of what I did, of what I hid, | |
of all I called my own. | |
Our high days and our holidays | |
are numbered, every one. | |
So quick the hours rush away | |
and everything we' ve left' s undone. |