Coming Up 歌词
| 歌曲 | Coming Up |
| 歌手 | Ani DiFranco |
| 专辑 | Chicago 9.22.07 |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| Our father who art in a penthouse sits in his 37th floor suite | |
| And swivels to gaze down at the city he made me in | |
| He allows me to stand and solicit graffiti until | |
| He needs the land I stand on | |
| I in my darkened threshold am pawing through my pockets | |
| The receipts, the bus schedules, the matchbook phone numbers | |
| The urgent napkin poems all of which laundering has rendered | |
| Pulpy and strange, loose change and a key | |
| Ask me, go ahead, ask me, go ahead, ask me | |
| Go ahead, ask me if I care | |
| I got the answer here, I wrote it down somewhere | |
| I just gotta find it | |
| Somebody and their spray paint got too close | |
| Somebody came on too heavy | |
| Now look at me made ugly by the drooling letters | |
| I was better off alone, ain't that the way it is | |
| They don't know the first thing but you don't know that | |
| Until they take the first swing | |
| My fingers are red and swollen from the cold | |
| I'm getting bold in my old age | |
| So go ahead, try the door, it doesn't matter anymore | |
| I know the weak hearted are strong willed | |
| And we are being kept alive | |
| Until we're killed, he's up there | |
| The, the ice is clinking in his glass | |
| It's little pieces of paper | |
| I don't ask | |
| I just empty my pockets and wait | |
| It's not fate, it's just circumstance | |
| I don't fool myself with romance | |
| I just live phone number to phone number | |
| Dusting them against my thighs | |
| In the warmth of my pockets | |
| Which whisper history incessantly asking me, ‽Where were you?†| |
| I lower my eyes wishing I could cry more | |
| And care less, yes it's true | |
| I was trying to love someone again | |
| I was caught caring, bearing weight | |
| But I love this city, this state this country is too large | |
| And whoever's in charge | |
| They better take the elevator down | |
| And put more than change in our cup | |
| Or else we are coming up |
| Our father who art in a penthouse sits in his 37th floor suite | |
| And swivels to gaze down at the city he made me in | |
| He allows me to stand and solicit graffiti until | |
| He needs the land I stand on | |
| I in my darkened threshold am pawing through my pockets | |
| The receipts, the bus schedules, the matchbook phone numbers | |
| The urgent napkin poems all of which laundering has rendered | |
| Pulpy and strange, loose change and a key | |
| Ask me, go ahead, ask me, go ahead, ask me | |
| Go ahead, ask me if I care | |
| I got the answer here, I wrote it down somewhere | |
| I just gotta find it | |
| Somebody and their spray paint got too close | |
| Somebody came on too heavy | |
| Now look at me made ugly by the drooling letters | |
| I was better off alone, ain' t that the way it is | |
| They don' t know the first thing but you don' t know that | |
| Until they take the first swing | |
| My fingers are red and swollen from the cold | |
| I' m getting bold in my old age | |
| So go ahead, try the door, it doesn' t matter anymore | |
| I know the weak hearted are strong willed | |
| And we are being kept alive | |
| Until we' re killed, he' s up there | |
| The, the ice is clinking in his glass | |
| It' s little pieces of paper | |
| I don' t ask | |
| I just empty my pockets and wait | |
| It' s not fate, it' s just circumstance | |
| I don' t fool myself with romance | |
| I just live phone number to phone number | |
| Dusting them against my thighs | |
| In the warmth of my pockets | |
| Which whisper history incessantly asking me, Where were you? | |
| I lower my eyes wishing I could cry more | |
| And care less, yes it' s true | |
| I was trying to love someone again | |
| I was caught caring, bearing weight | |
| But I love this city, this state this country is too large | |
| And whoever' s in charge | |
| They better take the elevator down | |
| And put more than change in our cup | |
| Or else we are coming up |
| Our father who art in a penthouse sits in his 37th floor suite | |
| And swivels to gaze down at the city he made me in | |
| He allows me to stand and solicit graffiti until | |
| He needs the land I stand on | |
| I in my darkened threshold am pawing through my pockets | |
| The receipts, the bus schedules, the matchbook phone numbers | |
| The urgent napkin poems all of which laundering has rendered | |
| Pulpy and strange, loose change and a key | |
| Ask me, go ahead, ask me, go ahead, ask me | |
| Go ahead, ask me if I care | |
| I got the answer here, I wrote it down somewhere | |
| I just gotta find it | |
| Somebody and their spray paint got too close | |
| Somebody came on too heavy | |
| Now look at me made ugly by the drooling letters | |
| I was better off alone, ain' t that the way it is | |
| They don' t know the first thing but you don' t know that | |
| Until they take the first swing | |
| My fingers are red and swollen from the cold | |
| I' m getting bold in my old age | |
| So go ahead, try the door, it doesn' t matter anymore | |
| I know the weak hearted are strong willed | |
| And we are being kept alive | |
| Until we' re killed, he' s up there | |
| The, the ice is clinking in his glass | |
| It' s little pieces of paper | |
| I don' t ask | |
| I just empty my pockets and wait | |
| It' s not fate, it' s just circumstance | |
| I don' t fool myself with romance | |
| I just live phone number to phone number | |
| Dusting them against my thighs | |
| In the warmth of my pockets | |
| Which whisper history incessantly asking me, Where were you? | |
| I lower my eyes wishing I could cry more | |
| And care less, yes it' s true | |
| I was trying to love someone again | |
| I was caught caring, bearing weight | |
| But I love this city, this state this country is too large | |
| And whoever' s in charge | |
| They better take the elevator down | |
| And put more than change in our cup | |
| Or else we are coming up |
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