歌曲 | I Wear Your Dress |
歌手 | Anaïs Mitchell |
专辑 | Hymns for the Exiled |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Mitchell | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes | |
The one you made with the gold brocade | |
And the empire waist line | |
You fit it to your figure | |
When it looked just like my own | |
That was Jersey in the fifties | |
When the women stayed at home | |
So you laid your paper pattern | |
On the table in between | |
The silver wearing napkins | |
And the Harper's magazines | |
From a slow suburban season | |
That is nothing but a dream | |
To your granddaughter | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes | |
Wear it down to the bar in town | |
And I dance around all night | |
Talking and joking | |
Swearing and smoking | |
Like any stranger in the crowd | |
And nobody stares | |
And nobody cares to tell me I'm not allowed | |
I am allowed | |
And my body by the letter of the law is still my own | |
When I lay down in the darkness | |
Unburdened and alone | |
With the liberty you've given | |
Like the clothing you've outgrown | |
To your granddaughter | |
To your granddaughter | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes |
zuo qu : Mitchell | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes | |
The one you made with the gold brocade | |
And the empire waist line | |
You fit it to your figure | |
When it looked just like my own | |
That was Jersey in the fifties | |
When the women stayed at home | |
So you laid your paper pattern | |
On the table in between | |
The silver wearing napkins | |
And the Harper' s magazines | |
From a slow suburban season | |
That is nothing but a dream | |
To your granddaughter | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes | |
Wear it down to the bar in town | |
And I dance around all night | |
Talking and joking | |
Swearing and smoking | |
Like any stranger in the crowd | |
And nobody stares | |
And nobody cares to tell me I' m not allowed | |
I am allowed | |
And my body by the letter of the law is still my own | |
When I lay down in the darkness | |
Unburdened and alone | |
With the liberty you' ve given | |
Like the clothing you' ve outgrown | |
To your granddaughter | |
To your granddaughter | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes |
zuò qǔ : Mitchell | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes | |
The one you made with the gold brocade | |
And the empire waist line | |
You fit it to your figure | |
When it looked just like my own | |
That was Jersey in the fifties | |
When the women stayed at home | |
So you laid your paper pattern | |
On the table in between | |
The silver wearing napkins | |
And the Harper' s magazines | |
From a slow suburban season | |
That is nothing but a dream | |
To your granddaughter | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes | |
Wear it down to the bar in town | |
And I dance around all night | |
Talking and joking | |
Swearing and smoking | |
Like any stranger in the crowd | |
And nobody stares | |
And nobody cares to tell me I' m not allowed | |
I am allowed | |
And my body by the letter of the law is still my own | |
When I lay down in the darkness | |
Unburdened and alone | |
With the liberty you' ve given | |
Like the clothing you' ve outgrown | |
To your granddaughter | |
To your granddaughter | |
This is just to tell you | |
That I wear your dress sometimes |