Acres Wild 歌词

	作词 : Anderson
	I'll make love to you
	In all good places
	Under black mountains
	In open spaces.
	By deep brown rivers
	That slither darkly
	Through far marches
	Where the blue hare races.
	Come with me to the winged isle ---
	Northern father's western child.
	Where the dance of ages is playing still
	Through far marches of acres wild.
	I'll make love to you
	In narrow side streets
	With shuttered windows,
	Crumbling chimneys.
	Come with me to the weary town ---
	Discos silent under tiles
	That slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
	On concrete marches of acres wild.
	By red bricks pointed
	With cement fingers
	Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.
	Come with me to the winged isle ---
	Northern father's western child.
	Where the dance of ages is playing still
	Through far marches of acres wild.

	zuo ci : Anderson
	I' ll make love to you
	In all good places
	Under black mountains
	In open spaces.
	By deep brown rivers
	That slither darkly
	Through far marches
	Where the blue hare races.
	Come with me to the winged isle
	Northern father' s western child.
	Where the dance of ages is playing still
	Through far marches of acres wild.
	I' ll make love to you
	In narrow side streets
	With shuttered windows,
	Crumbling chimneys.
	Come with me to the weary town
	Discos silent under tiles
	That slide from rooftops, scatter softly
	On concrete marches of acres wild.
	By red bricks pointed
	With cement fingers
	Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.
	Come with me to the winged isle
	Northern father' s western child.
	Where the dance of ages is playing still
	Through far marches of acres wild.

	zuò cí : Anderson
	I' ll make love to you
	In all good places
	Under black mountains
	In open spaces.
	By deep brown rivers
	That slither darkly
	Through far marches
	Where the blue hare races.
	Come with me to the winged isle
	Northern father' s western child.
	Where the dance of ages is playing still
	Through far marches of acres wild.
	I' ll make love to you
	In narrow side streets
	With shuttered windows,
	Crumbling chimneys.
	Come with me to the weary town
	Discos silent under tiles
	That slide from rooftops, scatter softly
	On concrete marches of acres wild.
	By red bricks pointed
	With cement fingers
	Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.
	Come with me to the winged isle
	Northern father' s western child.
	Where the dance of ages is playing still
	Through far marches of acres wild.

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