歌曲 | The Mortality of Doves |
歌手 | Kayo Dot |
专辑 | Coffins On Io |
[I.] | |
Every angel that drips from the faucet into the sink | |
Tumbles down the drain | |
And deep into the ground | |
The choirs resound in an empty room as | |
Angels seep into the earth | |
And no one noticed this coffin heaving | |
These earthen boards thick with deceiving | |
Every | |
Every angel | |
that drips | |
from the faucet | |
in | |
to the sink | |
Tumbles down | |
down the drain | |
And deep into the ground | |
The choirs resound in | |
resound in an empty room | |
as Angels seep into the earth | |
And no | |
And no one | |
no one noticed this coffin heaving | |
These earthen boards thick | |
Thick with deceiving | |
And | |
And it swallowed | |
Up | |
Up the spirit | |
In the mire | |
Of division | |
As man | |
As mankind | |
Looked on and glutted itself | |
Upon derision trampled underfoot | |
The seeping of the soil | |
As man | |
As mankind | |
looked on and grumbled ever | |
Louder with the toil of every day and every year | |
And every century | |
And it swallowed up the spirit | |
In the mire of division | |
As mankind looked on and | |
Glutted itself upon derision | |
Trampled underfoot, the seeping of the soil | |
As mankind looked on and grumbled | |
Ever louder with the toil | |
Of every day and every year | |
And every century | |
Lost in thought | |
Or thought is lost | |
On the creeping multitude of heaven | |
They could never see beyond | |
And so there was nothing beyond to see | |
One after the next for ever and ever | |
Stepping over the statues of gods | |
Lying broken in the streets like tyrants | |
[II.] | |
The cynical heart too oft forgot | |
Its blood in course of vein | |
As circulated phantoms drain from | |
Spout to sink to silence | |
And vigilance betrayed by neglect | |
But uttered not in defiance | |
Sleep, the uncloaked sleep of doves | |
In mortality | |
Drawing down the shade of years | |
Over the monstrosity | |
Shutting the lids and shutting the sight | |
Bridging the break and shunning the life | |
The Earth entire has become a wasteland | |
A marsh intense, a swamp of flatland | |
Not so flat as desolate | |
And deep with poison and with regret | |
I cry aloud as I am pull’d beneath | |
And a body hangs over the shower rod | |
Like a towel left out to dry | |
Drips call out their protest to a dark and empty room | |
Sadness decorates the silence | |
As a gathering of the gloom | |
My cries are the echoes of a long-lost suicide | |
An angel bleeding out, a dove that has died |
I. | |
Every angel that drips from the faucet into the sink | |
Tumbles down the drain | |
And deep into the ground | |
The choirs resound in an empty room as | |
Angels seep into the earth | |
And no one noticed this coffin heaving | |
These earthen boards thick with deceiving | |
Every | |
Every angel | |
that drips | |
from the faucet | |
in | |
to the sink | |
Tumbles down | |
down the drain | |
And deep into the ground | |
The choirs resound in | |
resound in an empty room | |
as Angels seep into the earth | |
And no | |
And no one | |
no one noticed this coffin heaving | |
These earthen boards thick | |
Thick with deceiving | |
And | |
And it swallowed | |
Up | |
Up the spirit | |
In the mire | |
Of division | |
As man | |
As mankind | |
Looked on and glutted itself | |
Upon derision trampled underfoot | |
The seeping of the soil | |
As man | |
As mankind | |
looked on and grumbled ever | |
Louder with the toil of every day and every year | |
And every century | |
And it swallowed up the spirit | |
In the mire of division | |
As mankind looked on and | |
Glutted itself upon derision | |
Trampled underfoot, the seeping of the soil | |
As mankind looked on and grumbled | |
Ever louder with the toil | |
Of every day and every year | |
And every century | |
Lost in thought | |
Or thought is lost | |
On the creeping multitude of heaven | |
They could never see beyond | |
And so there was nothing beyond to see | |
One after the next for ever and ever | |
Stepping over the statues of gods | |
Lying broken in the streets like tyrants | |
II. | |
The cynical heart too oft forgot | |
Its blood in course of vein | |
As circulated phantoms drain from | |
Spout to sink to silence | |
And vigilance betrayed by neglect | |
But uttered not in defiance | |
Sleep, the uncloaked sleep of doves | |
In mortality | |
Drawing down the shade of years | |
Over the monstrosity | |
Shutting the lids and shutting the sight | |
Bridging the break and shunning the life | |
The Earth entire has become a wasteland | |
A marsh intense, a swamp of flatland | |
Not so flat as desolate | |
And deep with poison and with regret | |
I cry aloud as I am pull' d beneath | |
And a body hangs over the shower rod | |
Like a towel left out to dry | |
Drips call out their protest to a dark and empty room | |
Sadness decorates the silence | |
As a gathering of the gloom | |
My cries are the echoes of a longlost suicide | |
An angel bleeding out, a dove that has died |