Jane Whitfield Is Dead 歌词

歌曲	Jane Whitfield Is Dead
歌手	Thought Industry
专辑	Mods Carve The Pig: Assassins, Toads, And God's Flesh
下载	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Donaldson, Enzio, Lee, Oberlin
	Jane's clenched legs writhe.
	Soot dress dance flannel sheets.
	Inane lush that can't decide, but
	I'm snared here.
	I wake flustered in her bedroom that
	I can't escape.
	I weep here's something that can never change.
	This marriage is make believe.
	Cook slop meal; and sew t-shirt; and wash my plate; and make bunk bed.
	I never asked these things, because
	Jane's now dead.
	Jane's found dead, long dead.
	Left me to this lonely bed.
	Hoard of locust mad. [II) September 17th, 1995]
	Jane floats down the aisle.
	Voluptuous cream wedding dress.
	Family and friends tight smiles.
	Razor near. "I do," and
	I promise on the bottle lover's grave.
	She sighs, "our timeless loyalty is branded change."
	This marriage is make believe.
	Mow front lawn; and wash sports car; and cut slab wood; and pain garage; but we're not a sexist pair.
	Because Jane's now dead.
	Because Jane's been dead.
	Because Jane's found dead, long dead.
	Stranded to this frigid bed.
	Pacific bottom sad.
	I'll mourn her softly [III) May 3rd, 2043]
	A-frame by
	Winchester stream.
	Trimmed hedge with daisies.
	Fields. Stained plank ceder fence.
	My gramps' ponies.
	She'll shit a brick.
	I bet. Our house to raise a family.
	She'll shit.
	I bet. We'll grow old together.
	Snail slow and ancient gray.
	Racquetball on tuesday morning.
	Playing eucker.
	Sipping tea; and watch the sun die from our rocking chairs.
	We'll gum sweet oatmeal holding dishpan hands.
	She'll shit a brick.
	I bet. To watch our children married.
	She'll shit.
	I bet. To see us when we're ninety, sleeping in on church sunday.
	Playing our dated
	CD's that we bought in my twenties. [IV) January 25th, 2051]
	This marriage is make believe.
	Now I'm crying on her body as she passed away without me, and left me this bitter old man; because
	Jane's now dead, because
	Jane's been dead.
	Because Jane's found dead.
	My wife's now dead.
	My wife's found dead.
	Jane's left dead.

	zuo ci : Donaldson, Enzio, Lee, Oberlin
	Jane' s clenched legs writhe.
	Soot dress dance flannel sheets.
	Inane lush that can' t decide, but
	I' m snared here.
	I wake flustered in her bedroom that
	I can' t escape.
	I weep here' s something that can never change.
	This marriage is make believe.
	Cook slop meal and sew tshirt and wash my plate and make bunk bed.
	I never asked these things, because
	Jane' s now dead.
	Jane' s found dead, long dead.
	Left me to this lonely bed.
	Hoard of locust mad. II September 17th, 1995
	Jane floats down the aisle.
	Voluptuous cream wedding dress.
	Family and friends tight smiles.
	Razor near. " I do," and
	I promise on the bottle lover' s grave.
	She sighs, " our timeless loyalty is branded change."
	This marriage is make believe.
	Mow front lawn and wash sports car and cut slab wood and pain garage but we' re not a sexist pair.
	Because Jane' s now dead.
	Because Jane' s been dead.
	Because Jane' s found dead, long dead.
	Stranded to this frigid bed.
	Pacific bottom sad.
	I' ll mourn her softly III May 3rd, 2043
	Aframe by
	Winchester stream.
	Trimmed hedge with daisies.
	Fields. Stained plank ceder fence.
	My gramps' ponies.
	She' ll shit a brick.
	I bet. Our house to raise a family.
	She' ll shit.
	I bet. We' ll grow old together.
	Snail slow and ancient gray.
	Racquetball on tuesday morning.
	Playing eucker.
	Sipping tea and watch the sun die from our rocking chairs.
	We' ll gum sweet oatmeal holding dishpan hands.
	She' ll shit a brick.
	I bet. To watch our children married.
	She' ll shit.
	I bet. To see us when we' re ninety, sleeping in on church sunday.
	Playing our dated
	CD' s that we bought in my twenties. IV January 25th, 2051
	This marriage is make believe.
	Now I' m crying on her body as she passed away without me, and left me this bitter old man because
	Jane' s now dead, because
	Jane' s been dead.
	Because Jane' s found dead.
	My wife' s now dead.
	My wife' s found dead.
	Jane' s left dead.

	zuò cí : Donaldson, Enzio, Lee, Oberlin
	Jane' s clenched legs writhe.
	Soot dress dance flannel sheets.
	Inane lush that can' t decide, but
	I' m snared here.
	I wake flustered in her bedroom that
	I can' t escape.
	I weep here' s something that can never change.
	This marriage is make believe.
	Cook slop meal and sew tshirt and wash my plate and make bunk bed.
	I never asked these things, because
	Jane' s now dead.
	Jane' s found dead, long dead.
	Left me to this lonely bed.
	Hoard of locust mad. II September 17th, 1995
	Jane floats down the aisle.
	Voluptuous cream wedding dress.
	Family and friends tight smiles.
	Razor near. " I do," and
	I promise on the bottle lover' s grave.
	She sighs, " our timeless loyalty is branded change."
	This marriage is make believe.
	Mow front lawn and wash sports car and cut slab wood and pain garage but we' re not a sexist pair.
	Because Jane' s now dead.
	Because Jane' s been dead.
	Because Jane' s found dead, long dead.
	Stranded to this frigid bed.
	Pacific bottom sad.
	I' ll mourn her softly III May 3rd, 2043
	Aframe by
	Winchester stream.
	Trimmed hedge with daisies.
	Fields. Stained plank ceder fence.
	My gramps' ponies.
	She' ll shit a brick.
	I bet. Our house to raise a family.
	She' ll shit.
	I bet. We' ll grow old together.
	Snail slow and ancient gray.
	Racquetball on tuesday morning.
	Playing eucker.
	Sipping tea and watch the sun die from our rocking chairs.
	We' ll gum sweet oatmeal holding dishpan hands.
	She' ll shit a brick.
	I bet. To watch our children married.
	She' ll shit.
	I bet. To see us when we' re ninety, sleeping in on church sunday.
	Playing our dated
	CD' s that we bought in my twenties. IV January 25th, 2051
	This marriage is make believe.
	Now I' m crying on her body as she passed away without me, and left me this bitter old man because
	Jane' s now dead, because
	Jane' s been dead.
	Because Jane' s found dead.
	My wife' s now dead.
	My wife' s found dead.
	Jane' s left dead.

YouTube搜索结果 (转至YouTube)