| Song | Heartbeat And Sails |
| Artist | Augie March |
| Album | Sunset Studies |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Richards | |
| Scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| In the dumb city dawn I am senseless and drawn to the sun | |
| as the blackbirds and the toppyknots. | |
| And in biting down on the great foam world | |
| What is the looming thing? | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. | |
| O scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| And feel the subterranean movement a fraction | |
| and deep under ocean, the celibate rocks. | |
| Has it borne me down? | |
| Has it run me through? | |
| If I give it a name do I contract it too? | |
| More likely this thing has been growing in me, | |
| Like I have grown in you. | |
| Scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| In the dumb city dawn we dispense with the forlorn beasts | |
| that we were in the night, grown lean on love. | |
| A love which will pierce and callous and tumesce, | |
| O upon the birth oath the morbid bloom | |
| Is a child's sense of impending doom | |
| in a womb that is ambushed, | |
| in a womb that is ambushed. | |
| In biting down on the great foam world, | |
| What is the looming thing? | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. |
| zuo qu : Richards | |
| Scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| In the dumb city dawn I am senseless and drawn to the sun | |
| as the blackbirds and the toppyknots. | |
| And in biting down on the great foam world | |
| What is the looming thing? | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. | |
| O scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| And feel the subterranean movement a fraction | |
| and deep under ocean, the celibate rocks. | |
| Has it borne me down? | |
| Has it run me through? | |
| If I give it a name do I contract it too? | |
| More likely this thing has been growing in me, | |
| Like I have grown in you. | |
| Scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| In the dumb city dawn we dispense with the forlorn beasts | |
| that we were in the night, grown lean on love. | |
| A love which will pierce and callous and tumesce, | |
| O upon the birth oath the morbid bloom | |
| Is a child' s sense of impending doom | |
| in a womb that is ambushed, | |
| in a womb that is ambushed. | |
| In biting down on the great foam world, | |
| What is the looming thing? | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. |
| zuò qǔ : Richards | |
| Scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| In the dumb city dawn I am senseless and drawn to the sun | |
| as the blackbirds and the toppyknots. | |
| And in biting down on the great foam world | |
| What is the looming thing? | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. | |
| O scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| And feel the subterranean movement a fraction | |
| and deep under ocean, the celibate rocks. | |
| Has it borne me down? | |
| Has it run me through? | |
| If I give it a name do I contract it too? | |
| More likely this thing has been growing in me, | |
| Like I have grown in you. | |
| Scoop my brains and let my heart have action | |
| In its thousand million lots, | |
| In the dumb city dawn we dispense with the forlorn beasts | |
| that we were in the night, grown lean on love. | |
| A love which will pierce and callous and tumesce, | |
| O upon the birth oath the morbid bloom | |
| Is a child' s sense of impending doom | |
| in a womb that is ambushed, | |
| in a womb that is ambushed. | |
| In biting down on the great foam world, | |
| What is the looming thing? | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. | |
| Not money, not flesh, not happiness, | |
| But this, which makes me sing. |