Song | Children Of The Corn |
Artist | Sopor Æternus & the Ensemble of Shadows |
Album | Children of the Corn |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
[00:00.00] | 作曲 : Anna-Varney Cantodea |
[00:01.00] | 作词 : Anna-Varney Cantodea |
[00:13.39] | There's not a shred of beauty here |
[00:19.28] | residing in the human flesh, |
[00:25.41] | there's only sadness and confusion, |
[00:31.88] | and the stench of shit and death. |
[00:37.75] | In moments, dull, of self-pity |
[00:43.70] | of insufficiency and doubt, |
[00:49.92] | I catch myself, black-handed thief |
[00:55.85] | wishing that there'd be someone else. |
[01:29.59] | Sometimes ghosts are passing through |
[01:35.26] | the mind, both labyrinth and tomb, |
[01:41.96] | and yet it's still unrivalled here, |
[01:47.86] | Because all things unborn, only ideas, |
[01:54.66] | are sleeping safely far beyond the horrors of decay, |
[02:07.15] | and are thus sacred and immortal, |
[02:13.14] | because they never had to fade. |
[02:49.80] | Thumbing at times harlf-heartedly |
[02:55.85] | through flip-books of a lonely child, |
[03:02.26] | old silent movies shake and flicker |
[03:07.44] | in the dark theatre between my thighs. |
[03:14.53] | Then countless are the heads and limbs that wildly jump atop |
[03:26.68] | soulless bodies, unspecific, |
[03:32.73] | as they are numberless and cropped. |
[04:09.88] | When you close your tired eyes, |
[04:15.66] | does he then join you in this place ? |
[04:21.73] | Will he cross over, share your dream, |
[04:26.22] | or does he vanish on the doorstep, |
[04:29.73] | all too quickly disappear ? |
[04:34.02] | Alas reality is such a crippled whore, |
[04:39.99] | all mortal things are sick and rotten to the core, |
[04:46.21] | only the mind, that frail, but kingly jewel, |
[04:51.60] | gives birth to beauty, love and truth. |
[00:00.00] | zuo qu : AnnaVarney Cantodea |
[00:01.00] | zuo ci : AnnaVarney Cantodea |
[00:13.39] | There' s not a shred of beauty here |
[00:19.28] | residing in the human flesh, |
[00:25.41] | there' s only sadness and confusion, |
[00:31.88] | and the stench of shit and death. |
[00:37.75] | In moments, dull, of selfpity |
[00:43.70] | of insufficiency and doubt, |
[00:49.92] | I catch myself, blackhanded thief |
[00:55.85] | wishing that there' d be someone else. |
[01:29.59] | Sometimes ghosts are passing through |
[01:35.26] | the mind, both labyrinth and tomb, |
[01:41.96] | and yet it' s still unrivalled here, |
[01:47.86] | Because all things unborn, only ideas, |
[01:54.66] | are sleeping safely far beyond the horrors of decay, |
[02:07.15] | and are thus sacred and immortal, |
[02:13.14] | because they never had to fade. |
[02:49.80] | Thumbing at times harlfheartedly |
[02:55.85] | through flipbooks of a lonely child, |
[03:02.26] | old silent movies shake and flicker |
[03:07.44] | in the dark theatre between my thighs. |
[03:14.53] | Then countless are the heads and limbs that wildly jump atop |
[03:26.68] | soulless bodies, unspecific, |
[03:32.73] | as they are numberless and cropped. |
[04:09.88] | When you close your tired eyes, |
[04:15.66] | does he then join you in this place ? |
[04:21.73] | Will he cross over, share your dream, |
[04:26.22] | or does he vanish on the doorstep, |
[04:29.73] | all too quickly disappear ? |
[04:34.02] | Alas reality is such a crippled whore, |
[04:39.99] | all mortal things are sick and rotten to the core, |
[04:46.21] | only the mind, that frail, but kingly jewel, |
[04:51.60] | gives birth to beauty, love and truth. |
[00:00.00] | zuò qǔ : AnnaVarney Cantodea |
[00:01.00] | zuò cí : AnnaVarney Cantodea |
[00:13.39] | There' s not a shred of beauty here |
[00:19.28] | residing in the human flesh, |
[00:25.41] | there' s only sadness and confusion, |
[00:31.88] | and the stench of shit and death. |
[00:37.75] | In moments, dull, of selfpity |
[00:43.70] | of insufficiency and doubt, |
[00:49.92] | I catch myself, blackhanded thief |
[00:55.85] | wishing that there' d be someone else. |
[01:29.59] | Sometimes ghosts are passing through |
[01:35.26] | the mind, both labyrinth and tomb, |
[01:41.96] | and yet it' s still unrivalled here, |
[01:47.86] | Because all things unborn, only ideas, |
[01:54.66] | are sleeping safely far beyond the horrors of decay, |
[02:07.15] | and are thus sacred and immortal, |
[02:13.14] | because they never had to fade. |
[02:49.80] | Thumbing at times harlfheartedly |
[02:55.85] | through flipbooks of a lonely child, |
[03:02.26] | old silent movies shake and flicker |
[03:07.44] | in the dark theatre between my thighs. |
[03:14.53] | Then countless are the heads and limbs that wildly jump atop |
[03:26.68] | soulless bodies, unspecific, |
[03:32.73] | as they are numberless and cropped. |
[04:09.88] | When you close your tired eyes, |
[04:15.66] | does he then join you in this place ? |
[04:21.73] | Will he cross over, share your dream, |
[04:26.22] | or does he vanish on the doorstep, |
[04:29.73] | all too quickly disappear ? |
[04:34.02] | Alas reality is such a crippled whore, |
[04:39.99] | all mortal things are sick and rotten to the core, |
[04:46.21] | only the mind, that frail, but kingly jewel, |
[04:51.60] | gives birth to beauty, love and truth. |