歌曲 | Bishonen |
歌手 | Momus |
专辑 | Tender Pervert |
作词 : Momus | |
I was born in the town of Paisley in early 1960 | |
And placed in the care of an old eternal bachelor | |
A strict disciplinarian, a passionate antiquarian | |
His collection of myths and legends was spectacular | |
As a younger man he'd been to see Japan | |
Where a master in a white kimono taught him | |
In a shining moment the myth of the bishonen | |
The youthful hero doomed to fall like blossom | |
And how could I forgive the ugly fugitive | |
Who brought me up according to a fantasy? | |
For when the old man stared at me | |
He drowned in evil beauty | |
Thinking of the early death in store for me | |
He taught me to be good with words, he bought me ceremonial swords | |
And in this way came grace and expertise | |
The words were to cut down and to kill the muscle-bound | |
The swords to fell my intellectual enemies | |
And women should be hated but first impersonated | |
Charm, he said, is essential to misogyny | |
He taught me how to woo the girls in order to outdo the girls | |
And the fun would come when I'd got them to love me | |
And how could I resist the old misogynist | |
Who brought me up according to a fantasy? | |
My softness and fragility | |
My feminine grace and delicacy | |
Made death himself afraid for me | |
And so in time I grew to be blond and beautiful | |
Pale and frail, with many male admirers | |
I was promised by my father a retainer for a partner | |
So loyal that nothing could divide us | |
Shocked by my suggestion that I'd rather have a woman | |
My stepfather replied I had no choice | |
This man would cut his entrails open protecting his bishonen | |
He informed me in a solemn, trembling voice | |
How could I disobey that surreptitious gay | |
Who brought me up according to a fantasy? | |
For when the old man stared at me | |
He drowned in evil beauty | |
Thinking of the early death in store for me | |
So me and my retainer encountered many dangers | |
On travels through the North and through the South | |
We ripped open the bellies of many famous bullies | |
And our reputation spread by word of mouth | |
In the mountains of Morocco we stopped and shared a bottle | |
With a blind old man with a bearded, bandaged face | |
And though the sun had sunk and the man was very drunk | |
He seemed to speak with my stepfather's voice | |
Saying "How could you forget the aging martinet | |
Who brought you up according to a fantasy? | |
Your softness and fragility | |
Your feminine grace and delicacy | |
Will be the death of me" | |
Surprised at 28 to find myself so late | |
Changing from a boy into a man | |
I'm starting to feel guilty that nobody has killed me | |
Early as my stepfather had planned | |
I've found myself a girl and stopped roaming the world | |
My retainer's gone to be a mercenary | |
Now I work in a merchant bank, I'm well-liked by the senior ranks | |
Though behind my back the juniors call me fairy | |
And how can I placate the ugly reprobate | |
Who brought me up according to a fantasy? | |
For when the old man stared at me | |
He drowned in evil beauty | |
Thinking of the early death in store for me | |
I stay awake some nights when my wife turns off the lights | |
And starts breathing regularly next to me | |
And I think of fallen petals and bodies pierced by metal | |
And how I'll never now fulfill my destiny | |
Father spare my shame, let me pass my name | |
To a boy with greater beauty and more bravery | |
For if I have a son I'm going to raise him to die young | |
And lay him in the grave that you prepared for me |
zuò cí : Momus | |
I was born in the town of Paisley in early 1960 | |
And placed in the care of an old eternal bachelor | |
A strict disciplinarian, a passionate antiquarian | |
His collection of myths and legends was spectacular | |
As a younger man he' d been to see Japan | |
Where a master in a white kimono taught him | |
In a shining moment the myth of the bishonen | |
The youthful hero doomed to fall like blossom | |
And how could I forgive the ugly fugitive | |
Who brought me up according to a fantasy? | |
For when the old man stared at me | |
He drowned in evil beauty | |
Thinking of the early death in store for me | |
He taught me to be good with words, he bought me ceremonial swords | |
And in this way came grace and expertise | |
The words were to cut down and to kill the musclebound | |
The swords to fell my intellectual enemies | |
And women should be hated but first impersonated | |
Charm, he said, is essential to misogyny | |
He taught me how to woo the girls in order to outdo the girls | |
And the fun would come when I' d got them to love me | |
And how could I resist the old misogynist | |
Who brought me up according to a fantasy? | |
My softness and fragility | |
My feminine grace and delicacy | |
Made death himself afraid for me | |
And so in time I grew to be blond and beautiful | |
Pale and frail, with many male admirers | |
I was promised by my father a retainer for a partner | |
So loyal that nothing could divide us | |
Shocked by my suggestion that I' d rather have a woman | |
My stepfather replied I had no choice | |
This man would cut his entrails open protecting his bishonen | |
He informed me in a solemn, trembling voice | |
How could I disobey that surreptitious gay | |
Who brought me up according to a fantasy? | |
For when the old man stared at me | |
He drowned in evil beauty | |
Thinking of the early death in store for me | |
So me and my retainer encountered many dangers | |
On travels through the North and through the South | |
We ripped open the bellies of many famous bullies | |
And our reputation spread by word of mouth | |
In the mountains of Morocco we stopped and shared a bottle | |
With a blind old man with a bearded, bandaged face | |
And though the sun had sunk and the man was very drunk | |
He seemed to speak with my stepfather' s voice | |
Saying " How could you forget the aging martinet | |
Who brought you up according to a fantasy? | |
Your softness and fragility | |
Your feminine grace and delicacy | |
Will be the death of me" | |
Surprised at 28 to find myself so late | |
Changing from a boy into a man | |
I' m starting to feel guilty that nobody has killed me | |
Early as my stepfather had planned | |
I' ve found myself a girl and stopped roaming the world | |
My retainer' s gone to be a mercenary | |
Now I work in a merchant bank, I' m wellliked by the senior ranks | |
Though behind my back the juniors call me fairy | |
And how can I placate the ugly reprobate | |
Who brought me up according to a fantasy? | |
For when the old man stared at me | |
He drowned in evil beauty | |
Thinking of the early death in store for me | |
I stay awake some nights when my wife turns off the lights | |
And starts breathing regularly next to me | |
And I think of fallen petals and bodies pierced by metal | |
And how I' ll never now fulfill my destiny | |
Father spare my shame, let me pass my name | |
To a boy with greater beauty and more bravery | |
For if I have a son I' m going to raise him to die young | |
And lay him in the grave that you prepared for me |