Maps in Her Wrists and Arms 歌词

	作曲 : Burrows, Havas, Jones
	In the tent of powder and lace
	Vultures pick at a carcass that feeds by hand
	Longing to decay
	Waits to hear the sound
	Of their wings slowly heave as they fly away
	Some will stay for days
	There's maps in her wrists and arms
	And the dust lies like snow around the bed
	Glowing white, a sculpture of bone
	Or a jewel like a crumpled, distorted moon
	Shivers in her mind
	If she moves too near
	It shatters so quickly, leaves nothing behind
	The old lady sighs
	Sometimes when she lifts her eyes
	The room has filled with flowing sheets of silk
	There's maps in her wrists and arms
	And the morphine surges terror bread and bliss
	In the tent of powder and lace
	She can hear some violins, watches the strings
	Threading through the room

	zuo qu : Burrows, Havas, Jones
	In the tent of powder and lace
	Vultures pick at a carcass that feeds by hand
	Longing to decay
	Waits to hear the sound
	Of their wings slowly heave as they fly away
	Some will stay for days
	There' s maps in her wrists and arms
	And the dust lies like snow around the bed
	Glowing white, a sculpture of bone
	Or a jewel like a crumpled, distorted moon
	Shivers in her mind
	If she moves too near
	It shatters so quickly, leaves nothing behind
	The old lady sighs
	Sometimes when she lifts her eyes
	The room has filled with flowing sheets of silk
	There' s maps in her wrists and arms
	And the morphine surges terror bread and bliss
	In the tent of powder and lace
	She can hear some violins, watches the strings
	Threading through the room

	zuò qǔ : Burrows, Havas, Jones
	In the tent of powder and lace
	Vultures pick at a carcass that feeds by hand
	Longing to decay
	Waits to hear the sound
	Of their wings slowly heave as they fly away
	Some will stay for days
	There' s maps in her wrists and arms
	And the dust lies like snow around the bed
	Glowing white, a sculpture of bone
	Or a jewel like a crumpled, distorted moon
	Shivers in her mind
	If she moves too near
	It shatters so quickly, leaves nothing behind
	The old lady sighs
	Sometimes when she lifts her eyes
	The room has filled with flowing sheets of silk
	There' s maps in her wrists and arms
	And the morphine surges terror bread and bliss
	In the tent of powder and lace
	She can hear some violins, watches the strings
	Threading through the room

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