| Song | When You and I Were Young |
| Artist | The Clientele |
| Album | The Violet Hour |
| 作曲 : The Clientele | |
| When you and I were young | |
| We would press our white faces from the car | |
| And the rain on the windows | |
| Would run through the gathering dark | |
| And the lampposts shone and dogs would run into the dying frame | |
| Where the park was glowing dimly through the silence of the lanes | |
| And the radiator's hum rose above the falling leaves | |
| Where, so fragile and so young, you had drifted into sleep | |
| I've been for a walk | |
| And every face I see seems to be mine | |
| Nighttime comes, the birds have flown | |
| A fever glows in every line | |
| I love this season, this weary night | |
| The flint, the dreams, the silent pines | |
| The eeriness is in the feeling | |
| That I have finished everything | |
| And a child from the school | |
| Was running back to her car | |
| And her white face cried | |
| She was deaf and afraid of the dark | |
| And the whispering house grew still as we stared into the night | |
| In the garden and the lamps and the window's fading light | |
| And though Christmas was the same, we had seen another year | |
| Turning softly through the flames |
| zuò qǔ : The Clientele | |
| When you and I were young | |
| We would press our white faces from the car | |
| And the rain on the windows | |
| Would run through the gathering dark | |
| And the lampposts shone and dogs would run into the dying frame | |
| Where the park was glowing dimly through the silence of the lanes | |
| And the radiator' s hum rose above the falling leaves | |
| Where, so fragile and so young, you had drifted into sleep | |
| I' ve been for a walk | |
| And every face I see seems to be mine | |
| Nighttime comes, the birds have flown | |
| A fever glows in every line | |
| I love this season, this weary night | |
| The flint, the dreams, the silent pines | |
| The eeriness is in the feeling | |
| That I have finished everything | |
| And a child from the school | |
| Was running back to her car | |
| And her white face cried | |
| She was deaf and afraid of the dark | |
| And the whispering house grew still as we stared into the night | |
| In the garden and the lamps and the window' s fading light | |
| And though Christmas was the same, we had seen another year | |
| Turning softly through the flames |