LRC歌词
[ilingku:037]
[ver:v1.0]
[ti:]
[ar:]
[al:]
[by:时间戳工具V2.0_20200810]
[offset:0]
[00:13.950]My grandmother catalogued
[00:16.650]The contents of the icebox
[00:19.620]Sure that there's a meal
[00:21.690]To be made from what was in there
[00:26.490]She offered us an orange
[00:28.530]For the seven days of aftershocks
[00:32.070]Dressed up in our best clothes
[00:34.110]With the powder in our hair
[00:38.760]It sticks in the throat
[00:43.890]It sticks in the throat
[00:46.920]I tried to run
[00:48.000]But it runs on remote
[00:54.390]The blonde girls in midtown board
[00:56.940]The express for the East Side
[00:59.550]I stare for lack of purpose
[01:01.980]Knowing you are far and gone
[01:06.630]I slept through my stop
[01:09.060]And disembarked to make a joyride
[01:12.180]Brighton Beach and Russian baths
[01:14.760]And Hudson River dawn
[01:25.500]It sticks in the throat
[01:31.410]It sticks in the throat
[01:39.450]I tried to run
[01:40.590]But it runs on remote
[01:53.040]My grandmother listens
[01:55.200]To the men in conversation
[01:58.500]Sure that there's a reason
[02:00.600]To be silent and be still
[02:05.490]Table turned and jacket torn
[02:07.890]In ancient observation
[02:10.860]All of us in black against the February chill
[02:16.320]I am at the window with my feet up on the sill
文本歌词
My grandmother catalogued
The contents of the icebox
Sure that there's a meal
To be made from what was in there
She offered us an orange
For the seven days of aftershocks
Dressed up in our best clothes
With the powder in our hair
It sticks in the throat
It sticks in the throat
I tried to run
But it runs on remote
The blonde girls in midtown board
The express for the East Side
I stare for lack of purpose
Knowing you are far and gone
I slept through my stop
And disembarked to make a joyride
Brighton Beach and Russian baths
And Hudson River dawn
It sticks in the throat
It sticks in the throat
I tried to run
But it runs on remote
My grandmother listens
To the men in conversation
Sure that there's a reason
To be silent and be still
Table turned and jacket torn
In ancient observation
All of us in black against the February chill
I am at the window with my feet up on the sill