Let's Not Chat About Despair 歌词

歌曲	Let's Not Chat About Despair
歌手	Diamanda Galás
专辑	You Must Be Certain of the Devil
下载	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Galas
	You, who speak of crowd control,
	of karma or the punishment of God:
	Do you fear the cages they are building
	in Kentucky, Tennessee and Texas
	while they're giving ten to forty years to find a cure?
	Do you pray each evening out of horror
	or of fear to the savage God
	whose bloody hand
	commands you now to die, alone?
	Let's not chat about Despair.
	Let's not chat about Despair.
	Do you taste the presence of the living dead
	while the skeleton beneath your open window
	waits with arms outstretched?
	Do you spend each night in waiting
	for the Devil's little angels' cries
	to burn you in your sleep?
	Do you wait for miracles in small hotels
	with seconal and compazine
	or for a ticket to the house of death in Amsterdam?
	Let's not chat about Despair.
	Let's not chat about Despair.
	Do you wait in prison for the dreadful day
	the office of the butcher comes to carry you away?
	Do you wait for saviors or the paradise to come in laundry rooms, in toilets, or in cadillacs?
	Are you crucified beneath the life machines
	with a shank inside your neck
	and a head which blossoms like a basketball?
	Let's not chat about Despair.
	Let's not chat about Despair.
	Do you tremble at the timid steps
	of crying, smiling faces who, in mourning,
	now have come to pay their last respects?
	In Kentucky Harry buys a round of beer
	to celebrate the death of Billy Smith, the queer,
	whose mother still must hide her face in fear.
	You who mix the words of torture, suicide and death
	with scotch and soda at the bar,
	we're all real decent people, aren't we,
	but there's no time left for talk:
	Let's not chat about Despair.
	Let's not chat about Despair.
	Let's not chat about Despair. Please
	Don't chat about Despair.

	zuo ci : Galas
	You, who speak of crowd control,
	of karma or the punishment of God:
	Do you fear the cages they are building
	in Kentucky, Tennessee and Texas
	while they' re giving ten to forty years to find a cure?
	Do you pray each evening out of horror
	or of fear to the savage God
	whose bloody hand
	commands you now to die, alone?
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Do you taste the presence of the living dead
	while the skeleton beneath your open window
	waits with arms outstretched?
	Do you spend each night in waiting
	for the Devil' s little angels' cries
	to burn you in your sleep?
	Do you wait for miracles in small hotels
	with seconal and compazine
	or for a ticket to the house of death in Amsterdam?
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Do you wait in prison for the dreadful day
	the office of the butcher comes to carry you away?
	Do you wait for saviors or the paradise to come in laundry rooms, in toilets, or in cadillacs?
	Are you crucified beneath the life machines
	with a shank inside your neck
	and a head which blossoms like a basketball?
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Do you tremble at the timid steps
	of crying, smiling faces who, in mourning,
	now have come to pay their last respects?
	In Kentucky Harry buys a round of beer
	to celebrate the death of Billy Smith, the queer,
	whose mother still must hide her face in fear.
	You who mix the words of torture, suicide and death
	with scotch and soda at the bar,
	we' re all real decent people, aren' t we,
	but there' s no time left for talk:
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair. Please
	Don' t chat about Despair.

	zuò cí : Galas
	You, who speak of crowd control,
	of karma or the punishment of God:
	Do you fear the cages they are building
	in Kentucky, Tennessee and Texas
	while they' re giving ten to forty years to find a cure?
	Do you pray each evening out of horror
	or of fear to the savage God
	whose bloody hand
	commands you now to die, alone?
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Do you taste the presence of the living dead
	while the skeleton beneath your open window
	waits with arms outstretched?
	Do you spend each night in waiting
	for the Devil' s little angels' cries
	to burn you in your sleep?
	Do you wait for miracles in small hotels
	with seconal and compazine
	or for a ticket to the house of death in Amsterdam?
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Do you wait in prison for the dreadful day
	the office of the butcher comes to carry you away?
	Do you wait for saviors or the paradise to come in laundry rooms, in toilets, or in cadillacs?
	Are you crucified beneath the life machines
	with a shank inside your neck
	and a head which blossoms like a basketball?
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Do you tremble at the timid steps
	of crying, smiling faces who, in mourning,
	now have come to pay their last respects?
	In Kentucky Harry buys a round of beer
	to celebrate the death of Billy Smith, the queer,
	whose mother still must hide her face in fear.
	You who mix the words of torture, suicide and death
	with scotch and soda at the bar,
	we' re all real decent people, aren' t we,
	but there' s no time left for talk:
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair.
	Let' s not chat about Despair. Please
	Don' t chat about Despair.

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