歌曲 | Mouth Like A Magazine |
歌手 | Showbread |
专辑 | No Sir, Nihilism Is Not Practical |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Dies | |
Turning over in interrupted slumber, | |
You ponder others, growing ever wakeful, | |
You've locked the vermin in the other bedroom, | |
To be so perfect causes you to feel so thankful, | |
Now find the fault because your boyfriend can't read, | |
Reflecting on to you is all the bitterness you need, | |
So unhappy, yet so preoccupied, | |
Never found beaten down with your forked tongue tied. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Queen dependency is cowering, please don't be confused, | |
You are vacant and submissive, receptive to abuse, | |
Virtue isn't tangible, and sense of self is dated, | |
Names constant on your cracked lips are now eviscerated, | |
Your spine is made of metal, Your veins are bound in electric tape, | |
And all along an impulse lights at random in your face, | |
Yough cought up an offering and forget which words are lies, | |
Then your skull echoes a singeing pop, as your brain is cauterized. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Within the walls I hear all of its legs, | |
There must be so many to carry it over our heads, | |
Seething and unsettled and oh such a let down, | |
And now these rusty spokes inside my head are making such a grating sound. | |
Your legacy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Yeah! Yeah! | |
Yeah! Yeah! | |
Yeah! Woah! |
zuo qu : Dies | |
Turning over in interrupted slumber, | |
You ponder others, growing ever wakeful, | |
You' ve locked the vermin in the other bedroom, | |
To be so perfect causes you to feel so thankful, | |
Now find the fault because your boyfriend can' t read, | |
Reflecting on to you is all the bitterness you need, | |
So unhappy, yet so preoccupied, | |
Never found beaten down with your forked tongue tied. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Queen dependency is cowering, please don' t be confused, | |
You are vacant and submissive, receptive to abuse, | |
Virtue isn' t tangible, and sense of self is dated, | |
Names constant on your cracked lips are now eviscerated, | |
Your spine is made of metal, Your veins are bound in electric tape, | |
And all along an impulse lights at random in your face, | |
Yough cought up an offering and forget which words are lies, | |
Then your skull echoes a singeing pop, as your brain is cauterized. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Within the walls I hear all of its legs, | |
There must be so many to carry it over our heads, | |
Seething and unsettled and oh such a let down, | |
And now these rusty spokes inside my head are making such a grating sound. | |
Your legacy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Yeah! Yeah! | |
Yeah! Yeah! | |
Yeah! Woah! |
zuò qǔ : Dies | |
Turning over in interrupted slumber, | |
You ponder others, growing ever wakeful, | |
You' ve locked the vermin in the other bedroom, | |
To be so perfect causes you to feel so thankful, | |
Now find the fault because your boyfriend can' t read, | |
Reflecting on to you is all the bitterness you need, | |
So unhappy, yet so preoccupied, | |
Never found beaten down with your forked tongue tied. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Queen dependency is cowering, please don' t be confused, | |
You are vacant and submissive, receptive to abuse, | |
Virtue isn' t tangible, and sense of self is dated, | |
Names constant on your cracked lips are now eviscerated, | |
Your spine is made of metal, Your veins are bound in electric tape, | |
And all along an impulse lights at random in your face, | |
Yough cought up an offering and forget which words are lies, | |
Then your skull echoes a singeing pop, as your brain is cauterized. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Within the walls I hear all of its legs, | |
There must be so many to carry it over our heads, | |
Seething and unsettled and oh such a let down, | |
And now these rusty spokes inside my head are making such a grating sound. | |
Your legacy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Your eulogy is like poetry, | |
But your mouth is like a magazine. | |
Yeah! Yeah! | |
Yeah! Yeah! | |
Yeah! Woah! |