歌曲 | Vincent Craine |
歌手 | And Also the Trees |
专辑 | Virus Meadow |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Burrows, Havas, Jones | |
It was late afternoon | |
She sat watching never come to Vincent Crane | |
Under the wet weather swollen door | |
Never came | |
She pressed her knee up | |
Underneath the wooden table | |
As in her midriff | |
Dread flutters like the thread of love or pain | |
There was a bowl of fruit | |
Shrinking on the table by a rusty spoon | |
Over the mist weary distant hills | |
Never came | |
Through piles of wrecked cars | |
From the stagnant pools of water | |
From the abattoir flys | |
That swarm leech and crawl in Clamour Lane | |
She walked towards the door | |
Pushed it open and stood behind Vincent Crane | |
He leaned back and locked his arms around her | |
Thin awkward legs | |
They watched the sunlight | |
Slide in cold squares across the walls |
zuo qu : Burrows, Havas, Jones | |
It was late afternoon | |
She sat watching never come to Vincent Crane | |
Under the wet weather swollen door | |
Never came | |
She pressed her knee up | |
Underneath the wooden table | |
As in her midriff | |
Dread flutters like the thread of love or pain | |
There was a bowl of fruit | |
Shrinking on the table by a rusty spoon | |
Over the mist weary distant hills | |
Never came | |
Through piles of wrecked cars | |
From the stagnant pools of water | |
From the abattoir flys | |
That swarm leech and crawl in Clamour Lane | |
She walked towards the door | |
Pushed it open and stood behind Vincent Crane | |
He leaned back and locked his arms around her | |
Thin awkward legs | |
They watched the sunlight | |
Slide in cold squares across the walls |
zuò qǔ : Burrows, Havas, Jones | |
It was late afternoon | |
She sat watching never come to Vincent Crane | |
Under the wet weather swollen door | |
Never came | |
She pressed her knee up | |
Underneath the wooden table | |
As in her midriff | |
Dread flutters like the thread of love or pain | |
There was a bowl of fruit | |
Shrinking on the table by a rusty spoon | |
Over the mist weary distant hills | |
Never came | |
Through piles of wrecked cars | |
From the stagnant pools of water | |
From the abattoir flys | |
That swarm leech and crawl in Clamour Lane | |
She walked towards the door | |
Pushed it open and stood behind Vincent Crane | |
He leaned back and locked his arms around her | |
Thin awkward legs | |
They watched the sunlight | |
Slide in cold squares across the walls |