作词 : Dylan | |
In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need | |
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed | |
There’s a dyin’ voice within me reaching out somewhere | |
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair | |
Don’t have the inclination to look back on any mistake | |
Like cain, | |
I now behold this chain of events that | |
I must break | |
In the fury of the moment, | |
I can see the master’s hand | |
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand | |
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yester year | |
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer | |
Then the sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way | |
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay | |
I gaze into the doorway of temptation’s angry flame | |
And every time | |
I pass that way | |
I always hear my name | |
Then onward in my journey, | |
I come to understand | |
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand | |
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night | |
In the violence of a summer’s dream, in the chill of a wintery light | |
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space | |
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face | |
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea | |
Sometimes | |
I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me | |
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man | |
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand |
zuo ci : Dylan | |
In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need | |
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed | |
There' s a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere | |
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair | |
Don' t have the inclination to look back on any mistake | |
Like cain, | |
I now behold this chain of events that | |
I must break | |
In the fury of the moment, | |
I can see the master' s hand | |
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand | |
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yester year | |
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer | |
Then the sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way | |
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay | |
I gaze into the doorway of temptation' s angry flame | |
And every time | |
I pass that way | |
I always hear my name | |
Then onward in my journey, | |
I come to understand | |
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand | |
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night | |
In the violence of a summer' s dream, in the chill of a wintery light | |
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space | |
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face | |
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea | |
Sometimes | |
I turn, there' s someone there, other times it' s only me | |
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man | |
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand |
zuò cí : Dylan | |
In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need | |
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed | |
There' s a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere | |
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair | |
Don' t have the inclination to look back on any mistake | |
Like cain, | |
I now behold this chain of events that | |
I must break | |
In the fury of the moment, | |
I can see the master' s hand | |
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand | |
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yester year | |
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer | |
Then the sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way | |
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay | |
I gaze into the doorway of temptation' s angry flame | |
And every time | |
I pass that way | |
I always hear my name | |
Then onward in my journey, | |
I come to understand | |
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand | |
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night | |
In the violence of a summer' s dream, in the chill of a wintery light | |
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space | |
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face | |
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea | |
Sometimes | |
I turn, there' s someone there, other times it' s only me | |
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man | |
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand |