Netta Lyrics

Song	Netta
Artist	Thin Lear
Album	Wooden Cave
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作曲 : Matt Longo
	You’re a long way from public out here in this place
	Stuck on this island, your clothes in a case
	In a room that you rented for twenty a day
	An owner who’s lonely, and stops by to say
	That she’s here if you need her; she knows you’re unwell
	Your hands and your eyes are shaky as hell
	You came out for the magic, the feel of the Isles
	You came to be healed, inspired and wild
	Nearly two months of writing and candles and spells
	Has left you afraid of what you can’t tell
	And it’s panic each morning; the days are the same
	You step out for air, a jolt to your brain
	And you find you’ve been walking for hours on end
	With poisoning visions of family and friends
	Who just pity and sigh, their hands on your face
	And drive down your reasons, each passion replaced
	Now you swat down the wasp in the place where it stung
	You’re Alpha, Omega, Cohen and Young
	So you scream something awful and hope they can hear
	And wear out the welcome of every kind ear
	And a pain in your heart that’s been growing for years
	Is finally born; it’s finally here
	You’re too sick now for healing; it’s sudden and sharp
	Kicked loose the venom, no angels or harps
	And so, limping to freedom, collapse in the grass
	Reduced to a myth, revised as you pass
	To a true crime reduction, a nut at the end
	Who lived without walls or family or friends
	But for black and white photos, a wonderful face
	A glint in your eye the years can’t erase
	And a child born in New York will pick up the call
	And dream of you nightly, a voice down his hall
	He’ll row out to your island, and seek out your grave
	Like thousands before him, he’ll go the same way
	That’s the sadness of dreaming you’re more than you are
	You’ll end up with nothing, your shit in a car
	In a town with one stoplight, an island alone
	Plunged down through Niagara, in parents’ homes
	Found in attics and basements with ice through the veins
	No matter the ending, it all looks the same
	We are sailing for Netta, our luggage in stow
	We get here in cruise ships and dinghies and floats
	To a swirling of spirits, from far and from near
	Mother of magic, your children are here

	zuo qu : Matt Longo
	You' re a long way from public out here in this place
	Stuck on this island, your clothes in a case
	In a room that you rented for twenty a day
	An owner who' s lonely, and stops by to say
	That she' s here if you need her she knows you' re unwell
	Your hands and your eyes are shaky as hell
	You came out for the magic, the feel of the Isles
	You came to be healed, inspired and wild
	Nearly two months of writing and candles and spells
	Has left you afraid of what you can' t tell
	And it' s panic each morning the days are the same
	You step out for air, a jolt to your brain
	And you find you' ve been walking for hours on end
	With poisoning visions of family and friends
	Who just pity and sigh, their hands on your face
	And drive down your reasons, each passion replaced
	Now you swat down the wasp in the place where it stung
	You' re Alpha, Omega, Cohen and Young
	So you scream something awful and hope they can hear
	And wear out the welcome of every kind ear
	And a pain in your heart that' s been growing for years
	Is finally born it' s finally here
	You' re too sick now for healing it' s sudden and sharp
	Kicked loose the venom, no angels or harps
	And so, limping to freedom, collapse in the grass
	Reduced to a myth, revised as you pass
	To a true crime reduction, a nut at the end
	Who lived without walls or family or friends
	But for black and white photos, a wonderful face
	A glint in your eye the years can' t erase
	And a child born in New York will pick up the call
	And dream of you nightly, a voice down his hall
	He' ll row out to your island, and seek out your grave
	Like thousands before him, he' ll go the same way
	That' s the sadness of dreaming you' re more than you are
	You' ll end up with nothing, your shit in a car
	In a town with one stoplight, an island alone
	Plunged down through Niagara, in parents' homes
	Found in attics and basements with ice through the veins
	No matter the ending, it all looks the same
	We are sailing for Netta, our luggage in stow
	We get here in cruise ships and dinghies and floats
	To a swirling of spirits, from far and from near
	Mother of magic, your children are here

	zuò qǔ : Matt Longo
	You' re a long way from public out here in this place
	Stuck on this island, your clothes in a case
	In a room that you rented for twenty a day
	An owner who' s lonely, and stops by to say
	That she' s here if you need her she knows you' re unwell
	Your hands and your eyes are shaky as hell
	You came out for the magic, the feel of the Isles
	You came to be healed, inspired and wild
	Nearly two months of writing and candles and spells
	Has left you afraid of what you can' t tell
	And it' s panic each morning the days are the same
	You step out for air, a jolt to your brain
	And you find you' ve been walking for hours on end
	With poisoning visions of family and friends
	Who just pity and sigh, their hands on your face
	And drive down your reasons, each passion replaced
	Now you swat down the wasp in the place where it stung
	You' re Alpha, Omega, Cohen and Young
	So you scream something awful and hope they can hear
	And wear out the welcome of every kind ear
	And a pain in your heart that' s been growing for years
	Is finally born it' s finally here
	You' re too sick now for healing it' s sudden and sharp
	Kicked loose the venom, no angels or harps
	And so, limping to freedom, collapse in the grass
	Reduced to a myth, revised as you pass
	To a true crime reduction, a nut at the end
	Who lived without walls or family or friends
	But for black and white photos, a wonderful face
	A glint in your eye the years can' t erase
	And a child born in New York will pick up the call
	And dream of you nightly, a voice down his hall
	He' ll row out to your island, and seek out your grave
	Like thousands before him, he' ll go the same way
	That' s the sadness of dreaming you' re more than you are
	You' ll end up with nothing, your shit in a car
	In a town with one stoplight, an island alone
	Plunged down through Niagara, in parents' homes
	Found in attics and basements with ice through the veins
	No matter the ending, it all looks the same
	We are sailing for Netta, our luggage in stow
	We get here in cruise ships and dinghies and floats
	To a swirling of spirits, from far and from near
	Mother of magic, your children are here

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