歌曲 | Tango for One |
歌手 | Peter Hammill |
专辑 | None of the Above |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Hammill | |
And every time you call me | |
I wait to hear what favour you require of me this time... | |
The object of your own desire, | |
not everything's about you, | |
I'm not exactly hanging on your words, | |
this audience is restive, | |
perhaps you've not observed | |
because it's me, me, me with you | |
and what I feel means not a lot. | |
No, I don't need this, | |
you're welcome to what you've got. | |
Not everything's about you, | |
my world does not revolve | |
around whatever problem you want solved; | |
perhaps you might do better with a fresh resolve. | |
But it's always me, me, me with you | |
and I have had it up to here; | |
no, I don't need this – | |
you're welcome to yourself, my dear. | |
You're welcome to the party, | |
so glad your guests have all arrived. | |
They're all reflecting your brilliance in their adoring eyes. | |
You're welcome to this moment, | |
everybody's here for you... | |
but you'll be dancing by yourself before the night is through. | |
Not everything's about you, | |
not everything's about you, | |
not everything about you's true. | |
And every time you call me | |
your self-obsession grows: | |
you'll stew in your own juices, I suppose. | |
I've had enough of listening, there's nobody at home; | |
not everything's about you, everybody knows | |
that everything about you's emperor's new clothes. | |
You're welcome to the party, | |
so glad that everybody came; | |
oh, how they admire you as your worth is self-proclaimed! | |
The spittoons fill up with vitriol | |
while you're puffing up your name. | |
Yes, you're welcome to this moment | |
you perceive as your righteous fame; | |
and if exhausting our patience | |
has long been your chosen game | |
you're a winner, you're a champion... | |
in your own eyes you're a saint. | |
Is that what you've become? | |
Yes, you're welcome to yourself | |
but when this one-off race is run | |
not everything's about you. | |
Not everything's about you, | |
and getting on without you won't be hard, | |
if of comfort that's a crumb. | |
It's always me, me, me with you; | |
surely it can't be so much fun | |
to find you're dancing a tango for one? |
zuo ci : Hammill | |
And every time you call me | |
I wait to hear what favour you require of me this time... | |
The object of your own desire, | |
not everything' s about you, | |
I' m not exactly hanging on your words, | |
this audience is restive, | |
perhaps you' ve not observed | |
because it' s me, me, me with you | |
and what I feel means not a lot. | |
No, I don' t need this, | |
you' re welcome to what you' ve got. | |
Not everything' s about you, | |
my world does not revolve | |
around whatever problem you want solved | |
perhaps you might do better with a fresh resolve. | |
But it' s always me, me, me with you | |
and I have had it up to here | |
no, I don' t need this | |
you' re welcome to yourself, my dear. | |
You' re welcome to the party, | |
so glad your guests have all arrived. | |
They' re all reflecting your brilliance in their adoring eyes. | |
You' re welcome to this moment, | |
everybody' s here for you... | |
but you' ll be dancing by yourself before the night is through. | |
Not everything' s about you, | |
not everything' s about you, | |
not everything about you' s true. | |
And every time you call me | |
your selfobsession grows: | |
you' ll stew in your own juices, I suppose. | |
I' ve had enough of listening, there' s nobody at home | |
not everything' s about you, everybody knows | |
that everything about you' s emperor' s new clothes. | |
You' re welcome to the party, | |
so glad that everybody came | |
oh, how they admire you as your worth is selfproclaimed! | |
The spittoons fill up with vitriol | |
while you' re puffing up your name. | |
Yes, you' re welcome to this moment | |
you perceive as your righteous fame | |
and if exhausting our patience | |
has long been your chosen game | |
you' re a winner, you' re a champion... | |
in your own eyes you' re a saint. | |
Is that what you' ve become? | |
Yes, you' re welcome to yourself | |
but when this oneoff race is run | |
not everything' s about you. | |
Not everything' s about you, | |
and getting on without you won' t be hard, | |
if of comfort that' s a crumb. | |
It' s always me, me, me with you | |
surely it can' t be so much fun | |
to find you' re dancing a tango for one? |
zuò cí : Hammill | |
And every time you call me | |
I wait to hear what favour you require of me this time... | |
The object of your own desire, | |
not everything' s about you, | |
I' m not exactly hanging on your words, | |
this audience is restive, | |
perhaps you' ve not observed | |
because it' s me, me, me with you | |
and what I feel means not a lot. | |
No, I don' t need this, | |
you' re welcome to what you' ve got. | |
Not everything' s about you, | |
my world does not revolve | |
around whatever problem you want solved | |
perhaps you might do better with a fresh resolve. | |
But it' s always me, me, me with you | |
and I have had it up to here | |
no, I don' t need this | |
you' re welcome to yourself, my dear. | |
You' re welcome to the party, | |
so glad your guests have all arrived. | |
They' re all reflecting your brilliance in their adoring eyes. | |
You' re welcome to this moment, | |
everybody' s here for you... | |
but you' ll be dancing by yourself before the night is through. | |
Not everything' s about you, | |
not everything' s about you, | |
not everything about you' s true. | |
And every time you call me | |
your selfobsession grows: | |
you' ll stew in your own juices, I suppose. | |
I' ve had enough of listening, there' s nobody at home | |
not everything' s about you, everybody knows | |
that everything about you' s emperor' s new clothes. | |
You' re welcome to the party, | |
so glad that everybody came | |
oh, how they admire you as your worth is selfproclaimed! | |
The spittoons fill up with vitriol | |
while you' re puffing up your name. | |
Yes, you' re welcome to this moment | |
you perceive as your righteous fame | |
and if exhausting our patience | |
has long been your chosen game | |
you' re a winner, you' re a champion... | |
in your own eyes you' re a saint. | |
Is that what you' ve become? | |
Yes, you' re welcome to yourself | |
but when this oneoff race is run | |
not everything' s about you. | |
Not everything' s about you, | |
and getting on without you won' t be hard, | |
if of comfort that' s a crumb. | |
It' s always me, me, me with you | |
surely it can' t be so much fun | |
to find you' re dancing a tango for one? |