| Song | An Acquaintance Strikes a Chord |
| Artist | The Good Life |
| Album | Novena on a Nocturn |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Good Life | |
| he broke his old guitar. | |
| he couldn't make it sing. | |
| the strings had grown so worn | |
| they made his fingers bleed. | |
| soon after the event he made an acquaintance | |
| whose fingers bled as well, | |
| forming scabs that never heal. | |
| would you play a song for me? | |
| some wilting melody | |
| that drifts over the sunflowers | |
| to some far away country. | |
| won't you play a song for me? | |
| with words like push pins? | |
| they stick into my heart... | |
| and bleed out resonance | |
| these songs are all asleep. | |
| they lay dormant inside of me. | |
| this vacant recitation..i can't resuscitate them. | |
| won't you play a song for me? | |
| let the words escape your mouth! | |
| scream out what you've lost! | |
| in song it will be found. | |
| he broke his old guitar. | |
| he smashed it on his bedpost, | |
| where he used to dream up lovers | |
| kissing his forehead, "good morning." |
| zuo qu : Good Life | |
| he broke his old guitar. | |
| he couldn' t make it sing. | |
| the strings had grown so worn | |
| they made his fingers bleed. | |
| soon after the event he made an acquaintance | |
| whose fingers bled as well, | |
| forming scabs that never heal. | |
| would you play a song for me? | |
| some wilting melody | |
| that drifts over the sunflowers | |
| to some far away country. | |
| won' t you play a song for me? | |
| with words like push pins? | |
| they stick into my heart... | |
| and bleed out resonance | |
| these songs are all asleep. | |
| they lay dormant inside of me. | |
| this vacant recitation.. i can' t resuscitate them. | |
| won' t you play a song for me? | |
| let the words escape your mouth! | |
| scream out what you' ve lost! | |
| in song it will be found. | |
| he broke his old guitar. | |
| he smashed it on his bedpost, | |
| where he used to dream up lovers | |
| kissing his forehead, " good morning." |
| zuò qǔ : Good Life | |
| he broke his old guitar. | |
| he couldn' t make it sing. | |
| the strings had grown so worn | |
| they made his fingers bleed. | |
| soon after the event he made an acquaintance | |
| whose fingers bled as well, | |
| forming scabs that never heal. | |
| would you play a song for me? | |
| some wilting melody | |
| that drifts over the sunflowers | |
| to some far away country. | |
| won' t you play a song for me? | |
| with words like push pins? | |
| they stick into my heart... | |
| and bleed out resonance | |
| these songs are all asleep. | |
| they lay dormant inside of me. | |
| this vacant recitation.. i can' t resuscitate them. | |
| won' t you play a song for me? | |
| let the words escape your mouth! | |
| scream out what you' ve lost! | |
| in song it will be found. | |
| he broke his old guitar. | |
| he smashed it on his bedpost, | |
| where he used to dream up lovers | |
| kissing his forehead, " good morning." |