Sellers of Flowers Lyrics

Song	Sellers of Flowers
Artist	Regina Spektor
Album	Remember Us to Life
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Regina Spektor
	作曲 : Regina Spektor
	The sellers of flowers buy up old roses
	They pull off dead petals, like old heads of lettuce
	And sell 'em as new ones, for cheaper and fairer
	But they die by the morning, so who is the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers, maybe winter
	'Cause winters coming, soon after summer
	It runs faster, faster, chasing off autumn
	We go from a warm sun to only a white sun
	We go from a large sun to only a small one
	When I was a small girl, I walked through the market
	Holding my dad's hand, mitten gloved hand
	That night there were roses, lit up in glass boxes
	The heat lamps would keep them from freezing in winter
	We never bought them but somebody must have
	Maybe they made it or maybe they froze up
	Before any person had put them in water
	And hoped that they'd still be alive by the morning
	Who's the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Not those walking on a dark night
	Through a memory they're forgetting
	Who's the winner, who's the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Somebody steps on a light through a tunnel
	They're holding a piece of their mind in the rubble
	Hold on, I won't let go, I want to know
	But no one lives long enough to see the outcome
	To know any answers, to know what the point is
	To know if the winter ever came closer
	Than on that night when I walked with my father
	A small piece of ice, lodged in my mind
	Lodged in my thoughts, lodged in my eyes
	Cold all around, cold all around
	Warm from inside, warm from inside
	Who's the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Who's the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Not those walking on a dark night
	Through a memory they're forgetting
	Who's the winner, who's the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Who's the winner, who's the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Who's the winner, who's the winner

	zuo ci : Regina Spektor
	zuo qu : Regina Spektor
	The sellers of flowers buy up old roses
	They pull off dead petals, like old heads of lettuce
	And sell ' em as new ones, for cheaper and fairer
	But they die by the morning, so who is the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers, maybe winter
	' Cause winters coming, soon after summer
	It runs faster, faster, chasing off autumn
	We go from a warm sun to only a white sun
	We go from a large sun to only a small one
	When I was a small girl, I walked through the market
	Holding my dad' s hand, mitten gloved hand
	That night there were roses, lit up in glass boxes
	The heat lamps would keep them from freezing in winter
	We never bought them but somebody must have
	Maybe they made it or maybe they froze up
	Before any person had put them in water
	And hoped that they' d still be alive by the morning
	Who' s the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Not those walking on a dark night
	Through a memory they' re forgetting
	Who' s the winner, who' s the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Somebody steps on a light through a tunnel
	They' re holding a piece of their mind in the rubble
	Hold on, I won' t let go, I want to know
	But no one lives long enough to see the outcome
	To know any answers, to know what the point is
	To know if the winter ever came closer
	Than on that night when I walked with my father
	A small piece of ice, lodged in my mind
	Lodged in my thoughts, lodged in my eyes
	Cold all around, cold all around
	Warm from inside, warm from inside
	Who' s the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Who' s the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Not those walking on a dark night
	Through a memory they' re forgetting
	Who' s the winner, who' s the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Who' s the winner, who' s the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Who' s the winner, who' s the winner

	zuò cí : Regina Spektor
	zuò qǔ : Regina Spektor
	The sellers of flowers buy up old roses
	They pull off dead petals, like old heads of lettuce
	And sell ' em as new ones, for cheaper and fairer
	But they die by the morning, so who is the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers, maybe winter
	' Cause winters coming, soon after summer
	It runs faster, faster, chasing off autumn
	We go from a warm sun to only a white sun
	We go from a large sun to only a small one
	When I was a small girl, I walked through the market
	Holding my dad' s hand, mitten gloved hand
	That night there were roses, lit up in glass boxes
	The heat lamps would keep them from freezing in winter
	We never bought them but somebody must have
	Maybe they made it or maybe they froze up
	Before any person had put them in water
	And hoped that they' d still be alive by the morning
	Who' s the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Not those walking on a dark night
	Through a memory they' re forgetting
	Who' s the winner, who' s the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Somebody steps on a light through a tunnel
	They' re holding a piece of their mind in the rubble
	Hold on, I won' t let go, I want to know
	But no one lives long enough to see the outcome
	To know any answers, to know what the point is
	To know if the winter ever came closer
	Than on that night when I walked with my father
	A small piece of ice, lodged in my mind
	Lodged in my thoughts, lodged in my eyes
	Cold all around, cold all around
	Warm from inside, warm from inside
	Who' s the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Who' s the winner
	Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers
	Not the tellers, of the stories
	Not the fathers, not their children
	Not those walking on a dark night
	Through a memory they' re forgetting
	Who' s the winner, who' s the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Who' s the winner, who' s the winner
	Maybe winter, maybe winter
	Who' s the winner, who' s the winner

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