歌曲 | Turn on the Light |
歌手 | Bad Religion |
专辑 | Against the Grain |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Gurewitz, Mr. Brett | |
I had a friend who kept a candle in his pocket | |
He used to touch it when the wind was blowin' high | |
I guess it made him feel like he could bluff the system | |
And when it flickered out we laid him down to die | |
I turn on the light | |
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights | |
Yea, a beacon in the night | |
I'll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry, ya | |
And I'll construct a rack of tempered beams and trusses | |
And equip with just a million tiny suns | |
I'll install upon the room of my compartment | |
And place tinfoil on my floor and on my walls | |
Then I'll turn on the light | |
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights | |
A beacon in the night | |
I'll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry | |
And I'll burn like a | |
Roman fucking candle(Burn) | |
Like a chasm in the night(Burn) | |
For a miniscule duration | |
Ecstatic immolation, incorrigible delight |
zuo ci : Gurewitz, Mr. Brett | |
I had a friend who kept a candle in his pocket | |
He used to touch it when the wind was blowin' high | |
I guess it made him feel like he could bluff the system | |
And when it flickered out we laid him down to die | |
I turn on the light | |
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights | |
Yea, a beacon in the night | |
I' ll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry, ya | |
And I' ll construct a rack of tempered beams and trusses | |
And equip with just a million tiny suns | |
I' ll install upon the room of my compartment | |
And place tinfoil on my floor and on my walls | |
Then I' ll turn on the light | |
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights | |
A beacon in the night | |
I' ll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry | |
And I' ll burn like a | |
Roman fucking candle Burn | |
Like a chasm in the night Burn | |
For a miniscule duration | |
Ecstatic immolation, incorrigible delight |
zuò cí : Gurewitz, Mr. Brett | |
I had a friend who kept a candle in his pocket | |
He used to touch it when the wind was blowin' high | |
I guess it made him feel like he could bluff the system | |
And when it flickered out we laid him down to die | |
I turn on the light | |
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights | |
Yea, a beacon in the night | |
I' ll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry, ya | |
And I' ll construct a rack of tempered beams and trusses | |
And equip with just a million tiny suns | |
I' ll install upon the room of my compartment | |
And place tinfoil on my floor and on my walls | |
Then I' ll turn on the light | |
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights | |
A beacon in the night | |
I' ll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry | |
And I' ll burn like a | |
Roman fucking candle Burn | |
Like a chasm in the night Burn | |
For a miniscule duration | |
Ecstatic immolation, incorrigible delight |