The Awful Ache Lyrics

	作词 : Kilbey, Koppes, Powles ...
	Esmerelda falls in love every Saturday
	And on Sunday morning don't remember a thing
	And the gringos are all saints of the latter day, that's the way
	And it takes a little pain out of the sting
	Holy water tastes as sweet as wine
	Holy wine tastes just like blood
	She's drinking for loss, for the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache
	And in her bedroom there's a mirror there
	Sometimes it don't reflect a thing
	And from the street he sees her silhouette
	And he can't forget
	That her kisses are as sweet as wine
	And her kisses taste like myrrh
	Her love is lost, like the man on the cross
	And no more, the awful ache
	Esmerelda walks on down to the cemet'ry
	And he's waiting for her in the shade
	With the angels and the sad old trees, patiently
	But she walks right past his grave
	She's crying for loss, for the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache
	She's crying for loss, and the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache

	zuo ci : Kilbey, Koppes, Powles ...
	Esmerelda falls in love every Saturday
	And on Sunday morning don' t remember a thing
	And the gringos are all saints of the latter day, that' s the way
	And it takes a little pain out of the sting
	Holy water tastes as sweet as wine
	Holy wine tastes just like blood
	She' s drinking for loss, for the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache
	And in her bedroom there' s a mirror there
	Sometimes it don' t reflect a thing
	And from the street he sees her silhouette
	And he can' t forget
	That her kisses are as sweet as wine
	And her kisses taste like myrrh
	Her love is lost, like the man on the cross
	And no more, the awful ache
	Esmerelda walks on down to the cemet' ry
	And he' s waiting for her in the shade
	With the angels and the sad old trees, patiently
	But she walks right past his grave
	She' s crying for loss, for the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache
	She' s crying for loss, and the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache

	zuò cí : Kilbey, Koppes, Powles ...
	Esmerelda falls in love every Saturday
	And on Sunday morning don' t remember a thing
	And the gringos are all saints of the latter day, that' s the way
	And it takes a little pain out of the sting
	Holy water tastes as sweet as wine
	Holy wine tastes just like blood
	She' s drinking for loss, for the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache
	And in her bedroom there' s a mirror there
	Sometimes it don' t reflect a thing
	And from the street he sees her silhouette
	And he can' t forget
	That her kisses are as sweet as wine
	And her kisses taste like myrrh
	Her love is lost, like the man on the cross
	And no more, the awful ache
	Esmerelda walks on down to the cemet' ry
	And he' s waiting for her in the shade
	With the angels and the sad old trees, patiently
	But she walks right past his grave
	She' s crying for loss, for the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache
	She' s crying for loss, and the man on the cross
	She says no more, the awful ache

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