| Song | Drop It Doe Eyes |
| Artist | Los Campesinos! |
| Album | Hold On Now, Youngster... |
| 作曲 : Team Campesinos! | |
| You expected my war diaries | |
| But time ran out and I, I let you down | |
| A small thanks note written in French is no shorthand for | |
| "This thing gave me writer's cramp" | |
| Another dream about shapeshifting | |
| Well we move with such elegance, with such grace | |
| With all our dignity just in place | |
| Deer die with their eyes wide open, eyes wide open, eyes wide open | |
| Deer die with their eyes wide open | |
| Drawing tiny little pictures of skeletons | |
| To get across the sense of impending doom | |
| And the leaves like the artwork to "Major Leagues" look like dead foxes on the hard shoulder | |
| And for some reason I think that I attributed this story | |
| To the bypass of the town I hadn't visited | |
| So goes the backing track of all the sighs we'd ever sighed | |
| Deer die with their eyes wide open, eyes wide open, eyes wide open | |
| Deer die with their eyes wide open | |
| Drawing tiny little pictures of skeletons | |
| To get across the sense of impending doom | |
| And I am 17 pages through this notebook now | |
| And there are little more than pictures of how I see you in an X-ray machine | |
| That's more like a television screen | |
| And you're in a rut, and I know that you know what I mean | |
| And then the realisation hits that not even two gospel choirs could save us now | |
| Turn up on your doorstep | |
| Feeling like roadkill | |
| Tasting like postage stamps | |
| And when I touch you | |
| You fold up like an envelope | |
| With everything I ever wrote | |
| Pouring out of your mouth. |
| zuò qǔ : Team Campesinos! | |
| You expected my war diaries | |
| But time ran out and I, I let you down | |
| A small thanks note written in French is no shorthand for | |
| " This thing gave me writer' s cramp" | |
| Another dream about shapeshifting | |
| Well we move with such elegance, with such grace | |
| With all our dignity just in place | |
| Deer die with their eyes wide open, eyes wide open, eyes wide open | |
| Deer die with their eyes wide open | |
| Drawing tiny little pictures of skeletons | |
| To get across the sense of impending doom | |
| And the leaves like the artwork to " Major Leagues" look like dead foxes on the hard shoulder | |
| And for some reason I think that I attributed this story | |
| To the bypass of the town I hadn' t visited | |
| So goes the backing track of all the sighs we' d ever sighed | |
| Deer die with their eyes wide open, eyes wide open, eyes wide open | |
| Deer die with their eyes wide open | |
| Drawing tiny little pictures of skeletons | |
| To get across the sense of impending doom | |
| And I am 17 pages through this notebook now | |
| And there are little more than pictures of how I see you in an Xray machine | |
| That' s more like a television screen | |
| And you' re in a rut, and I know that you know what I mean | |
| And then the realisation hits that not even two gospel choirs could save us now | |
| Turn up on your doorstep | |
| Feeling like roadkill | |
| Tasting like postage stamps | |
| And when I touch you | |
| You fold up like an envelope | |
| With everything I ever wrote | |
| Pouring out of your mouth. |