Morning in the Bath Abbey Lyrics
| Song | Morning in the Bath Abbey |
| Artist | Spirit of the West |
| Album | Star Trails |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Ditrich, Kelly, Mann, McMillan ... | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ's reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I take comfort here, hanging with the dead | |
| Sticks, stones, buried bones soothe my sorry head | |
| And as I curse and dig around for the minimum two pounds | |
| I'm forced to drop a fiver in; it hits the plate without a sound | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ's reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| Lives tallied up, chiseled out in one pathetic verse | |
| The crap epitaph brings up a phlemy laugh so hard it hurts | |
| Outside cats and dogs await, they're bouncing off the roof | |
| I'm dry amonst the rows of pews, look like like shit and reek of booze | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ's reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ's reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I take comfort here, hanging with the dead | |
| Sticks, stones, buried bones soothe my sorry head | |
| And as I curse and dig around for the minimum two pounds | |
| I'm forced to drop a fiver in; it hits the plate without a sound | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ's reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| Lives tallied up, chiseled out in one pathetic verse | |
| The crap epitaph brings up a phlemy laugh so hard it hurts | |
| Outside cats and dogs await, they're bouncing off the rof | |
| I'm dry amonst the rows of pews, look like like shit and reek of booze | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ's reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst |
| zuo qu : Ditrich, Kelly, Mann, McMillan ... | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I take comfort here, hanging with the dead | |
| Sticks, stones, buried bones soothe my sorry head | |
| And as I curse and dig around for the minimum two pounds | |
| I' m forced to drop a fiver in it hits the plate without a sound | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| Lives tallied up, chiseled out in one pathetic verse | |
| The crap epitaph brings up a phlemy laugh so hard it hurts | |
| Outside cats and dogs await, they' re bouncing off the roof | |
| I' m dry amonst the rows of pews, look like like shit and reek of booze | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I take comfort here, hanging with the dead | |
| Sticks, stones, buried bones soothe my sorry head | |
| And as I curse and dig around for the minimum two pounds | |
| I' m forced to drop a fiver in it hits the plate without a sound | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| Lives tallied up, chiseled out in one pathetic verse | |
| The crap epitaph brings up a phlemy laugh so hard it hurts | |
| Outside cats and dogs await, they' re bouncing off the rof | |
| I' m dry amonst the rows of pews, look like like shit and reek of booze | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst |
| zuò qǔ : Ditrich, Kelly, Mann, McMillan ... | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I take comfort here, hanging with the dead | |
| Sticks, stones, buried bones soothe my sorry head | |
| And as I curse and dig around for the minimum two pounds | |
| I' m forced to drop a fiver in it hits the plate without a sound | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| Lives tallied up, chiseled out in one pathetic verse | |
| The crap epitaph brings up a phlemy laugh so hard it hurts | |
| Outside cats and dogs await, they' re bouncing off the roof | |
| I' m dry amonst the rows of pews, look like like shit and reek of booze | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| I take comfort here, hanging with the dead | |
| Sticks, stones, buried bones soothe my sorry head | |
| And as I curse and dig around for the minimum two pounds | |
| I' m forced to drop a fiver in it hits the plate without a sound | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst | |
| Lives tallied up, chiseled out in one pathetic verse | |
| The crap epitaph brings up a phlemy laugh so hard it hurts | |
| Outside cats and dogs await, they' re bouncing off the rof | |
| I' m dry amonst the rows of pews, look like like shit and reek of booze | |
| I feel so gentle that the lord seeps in | |
| On the back of the organ' s reedy din | |
| Here where the concert choirs rehearse | |
| Here where dead poets wax their worst |
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