| Song | Bullet The Blue Sky |
| Artist | U2 |
| Album | Modena 1987 |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : The Edge & Adam Clayton & Larry Mullen & Bono | |
| In the howlin' wind | |
| Comes a stingin' rain | |
| See it drivin' nails | |
| Into the souls on the tree of pain. | |
| From the firefly | |
| A red orange glow | |
| See the face of fear | |
| Runnin' scared in the valley below. | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue | |
| Bullet the blue. | |
| In the locust wind | |
| Comes a rattle and hum. | |
| Jacob wrestled the angel | |
| And the angel was overcome. | |
| You plant a demon seed | |
| You raise a flower of fire. | |
| We see them burnin' crosses | |
| See the flames, higher and higher. | |
| Woh, woh, bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue | |
| Bullet the blue. | |
| Suit and tie comes up to me | |
| His face red like a rose on a thorn bush | |
| Like all the colours of a royal flush | |
| And he's peelin' off those dollar bills | |
| (Slappin' 'em down) | |
| One hundred, two hundred. | |
| And I can see those fighter planes | |
| And I can see those fighter planes | |
| Across the tin huts as children sleep | |
| Through the alleys of a quiet city street. | |
| Up the staircase to the first floor | |
| We turn the key and slowly unlock the door | |
| As a man breathes into his saxophone | |
| And through the walls you hear the city groan. | |
| Outside, is America | |
| Outside, is America | |
| America. | |
| See across the field | |
| See the sky ripped open | |
| See the rain comin' through the gapin' wound | |
| Howlin' the women and children | |
| Who run into the arms | |
| Of America. |
| zuo qu : The Edge Adam Clayton Larry Mullen Bono | |
| In the howlin' wind | |
| Comes a stingin' rain | |
| See it drivin' nails | |
| Into the souls on the tree of pain. | |
| From the firefly | |
| A red orange glow | |
| See the face of fear | |
| Runnin' scared in the valley below. | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue | |
| Bullet the blue. | |
| In the locust wind | |
| Comes a rattle and hum. | |
| Jacob wrestled the angel | |
| And the angel was overcome. | |
| You plant a demon seed | |
| You raise a flower of fire. | |
| We see them burnin' crosses | |
| See the flames, higher and higher. | |
| Woh, woh, bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue | |
| Bullet the blue. | |
| Suit and tie comes up to me | |
| His face red like a rose on a thorn bush | |
| Like all the colours of a royal flush | |
| And he' s peelin' off those dollar bills | |
| Slappin' ' em down | |
| One hundred, two hundred. | |
| And I can see those fighter planes | |
| And I can see those fighter planes | |
| Across the tin huts as children sleep | |
| Through the alleys of a quiet city street. | |
| Up the staircase to the first floor | |
| We turn the key and slowly unlock the door | |
| As a man breathes into his saxophone | |
| And through the walls you hear the city groan. | |
| Outside, is America | |
| Outside, is America | |
| America. | |
| See across the field | |
| See the sky ripped open | |
| See the rain comin' through the gapin' wound | |
| Howlin' the women and children | |
| Who run into the arms | |
| Of America. |
| zuò qǔ : The Edge Adam Clayton Larry Mullen Bono | |
| In the howlin' wind | |
| Comes a stingin' rain | |
| See it drivin' nails | |
| Into the souls on the tree of pain. | |
| From the firefly | |
| A red orange glow | |
| See the face of fear | |
| Runnin' scared in the valley below. | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue | |
| Bullet the blue. | |
| In the locust wind | |
| Comes a rattle and hum. | |
| Jacob wrestled the angel | |
| And the angel was overcome. | |
| You plant a demon seed | |
| You raise a flower of fire. | |
| We see them burnin' crosses | |
| See the flames, higher and higher. | |
| Woh, woh, bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue sky | |
| Bullet the blue | |
| Bullet the blue. | |
| Suit and tie comes up to me | |
| His face red like a rose on a thorn bush | |
| Like all the colours of a royal flush | |
| And he' s peelin' off those dollar bills | |
| Slappin' ' em down | |
| One hundred, two hundred. | |
| And I can see those fighter planes | |
| And I can see those fighter planes | |
| Across the tin huts as children sleep | |
| Through the alleys of a quiet city street. | |
| Up the staircase to the first floor | |
| We turn the key and slowly unlock the door | |
| As a man breathes into his saxophone | |
| And through the walls you hear the city groan. | |
| Outside, is America | |
| Outside, is America | |
| America. | |
| See across the field | |
| See the sky ripped open | |
| See the rain comin' through the gapin' wound | |
| Howlin' the women and children | |
| Who run into the arms | |
| Of America. |