| 作曲 : Moor | |
| It's so formless | |
| That's what's killing me | |
| Remorseless, relentless | |
| And it's endlessly this pressure | |
| On pleasures hard to find | |
| Its expression | |
| Walks amongst these hungry times | |
| Like the blues made flesh | |
| And so it goes... | |
| What of this can we keep | |
| We're scratching out a living here | |
| Where living is dear and life is cheap | |
| So we pray to all of the gods who'll listen | |
| Deliver me, consider me | |
| Get rid of these hostilities at my shoes | |
| How can it be true, | |
| I... I'll toe the line | |
| But damn these hungry times | |
| Just a little would taste so fine | |
| But damn these hungry times | |
| I'm suspicious | |
| If love don't leave no scars | |
| Between its kisses | |
| Its curses and its calm | |
| You know it won't do | |
| If love's enough to eat | |
| Then we'd hunger | |
| And on the licks of love we'd feast ' | |
| Til we're ghosts... | |
| Of a memory... |
| zuo qu : Moor | |
| It' s so formless | |
| That' s what' s killing me | |
| Remorseless, relentless | |
| And it' s endlessly this pressure | |
| On pleasures hard to find | |
| Its expression | |
| Walks amongst these hungry times | |
| Like the blues made flesh | |
| And so it goes... | |
| What of this can we keep | |
| We' re scratching out a living here | |
| Where living is dear and life is cheap | |
| So we pray to all of the gods who' ll listen | |
| Deliver me, consider me | |
| Get rid of these hostilities at my shoes | |
| How can it be true, | |
| I... I' ll toe the line | |
| But damn these hungry times | |
| Just a little would taste so fine | |
| But damn these hungry times | |
| I' m suspicious | |
| If love don' t leave no scars | |
| Between its kisses | |
| Its curses and its calm | |
| You know it won' t do | |
| If love' s enough to eat | |
| Then we' d hunger | |
| And on the licks of love we' d feast ' | |
| Til we' re ghosts... | |
| Of a memory... |
| zuò qǔ : Moor | |
| It' s so formless | |
| That' s what' s killing me | |
| Remorseless, relentless | |
| And it' s endlessly this pressure | |
| On pleasures hard to find | |
| Its expression | |
| Walks amongst these hungry times | |
| Like the blues made flesh | |
| And so it goes... | |
| What of this can we keep | |
| We' re scratching out a living here | |
| Where living is dear and life is cheap | |
| So we pray to all of the gods who' ll listen | |
| Deliver me, consider me | |
| Get rid of these hostilities at my shoes | |
| How can it be true, | |
| I... I' ll toe the line | |
| But damn these hungry times | |
| Just a little would taste so fine | |
| But damn these hungry times | |
| I' m suspicious | |
| If love don' t leave no scars | |
| Between its kisses | |
| Its curses and its calm | |
| You know it won' t do | |
| If love' s enough to eat | |
| Then we' d hunger | |
| And on the licks of love we' d feast ' | |
| Til we' re ghosts... | |
| Of a memory... |
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