Edge of the Road Lyrics

Song	Edge of the Road
Artist	Peter Hammill
Album	What, Now?
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Hammill
	The lady was in waiting
	for whatever story might unfold
	anticipating that somehow base metal would turn into gold
	yeh, she was always looking for a brighter spot,
	eager to tap into the motherlode
	at the edge of the road.
	A world of separation,
	treasuring each pleasure and each pain
	distance is arching between them,
	a rainbow, no gold in the frame
	until the boy with a smile like forget-me-nots
	will finally come in from the rain.
	But he's out there still:
	in the hourglass a sandstorm has stripped his sails,
	only wanting to fill up his pockets
	with the dust of all the bygone trails.
	Someday he'll make his way home.
	But will the man of the moment finally make himself known
	and lay down his load
	at the edge of the road?
	The woman was in waiting
	less in expectation than in hope;
	maybe he'd come to his senses in a little while
	if she just paid out plaits of flaxen rope.
	But he never will,
	in his heart there's the murmur of an alien disease,
	waking up to the chill of the knowledge
	that his travel's brought him to his knees.
	Nowhere is safe from all harm;
	so will the man of her memory fall finally into her arms
	(will the man of her memory be charmed?)
	before he explodes
	at the edge of the road?
	All is suddenly abandon,
	all his planned accommodation failed,
	all his actions and reactions are random,
	hot on the scent of a stone-cold trail.
	And though she burns a candle to his memory
	all of her patience was bound to fail
	for he's out there still
	with a thousand-mile stare falling on his face,
	chasing after a thrill
	that'll take him out beyond all sense of time and place.
	Head on into the unknown,
	here's the man chasing mystery finally missing his own.
	But that's how it goes
	at the edge of the road.
	There's a cutting edge to the road
	at the end of the road,
	at the edge of the road.

	zuo ci : Hammill
	The lady was in waiting
	for whatever story might unfold
	anticipating that somehow base metal would turn into gold
	yeh, she was always looking for a brighter spot,
	eager to tap into the motherlode
	at the edge of the road.
	A world of separation,
	treasuring each pleasure and each pain
	distance is arching between them,
	a rainbow, no gold in the frame
	until the boy with a smile like forgetmenots
	will finally come in from the rain.
	But he' s out there still:
	in the hourglass a sandstorm has stripped his sails,
	only wanting to fill up his pockets
	with the dust of all the bygone trails.
	Someday he' ll make his way home.
	But will the man of the moment finally make himself known
	and lay down his load
	at the edge of the road?
	The woman was in waiting
	less in expectation than in hope
	maybe he' d come to his senses in a little while
	if she just paid out plaits of flaxen rope.
	But he never will,
	in his heart there' s the murmur of an alien disease,
	waking up to the chill of the knowledge
	that his travel' s brought him to his knees.
	Nowhere is safe from all harm
	so will the man of her memory fall finally into her arms
	will the man of her memory be charmed?
	before he explodes
	at the edge of the road?
	All is suddenly abandon,
	all his planned accommodation failed,
	all his actions and reactions are random,
	hot on the scent of a stonecold trail.
	And though she burns a candle to his memory
	all of her patience was bound to fail
	for he' s out there still
	with a thousandmile stare falling on his face,
	chasing after a thrill
	that' ll take him out beyond all sense of time and place.
	Head on into the unknown,
	here' s the man chasing mystery finally missing his own.
	But that' s how it goes
	at the edge of the road.
	There' s a cutting edge to the road
	at the end of the road,
	at the edge of the road.

	zuò cí : Hammill
	The lady was in waiting
	for whatever story might unfold
	anticipating that somehow base metal would turn into gold
	yeh, she was always looking for a brighter spot,
	eager to tap into the motherlode
	at the edge of the road.
	A world of separation,
	treasuring each pleasure and each pain
	distance is arching between them,
	a rainbow, no gold in the frame
	until the boy with a smile like forgetmenots
	will finally come in from the rain.
	But he' s out there still:
	in the hourglass a sandstorm has stripped his sails,
	only wanting to fill up his pockets
	with the dust of all the bygone trails.
	Someday he' ll make his way home.
	But will the man of the moment finally make himself known
	and lay down his load
	at the edge of the road?
	The woman was in waiting
	less in expectation than in hope
	maybe he' d come to his senses in a little while
	if she just paid out plaits of flaxen rope.
	But he never will,
	in his heart there' s the murmur of an alien disease,
	waking up to the chill of the knowledge
	that his travel' s brought him to his knees.
	Nowhere is safe from all harm
	so will the man of her memory fall finally into her arms
	will the man of her memory be charmed?
	before he explodes
	at the edge of the road?
	All is suddenly abandon,
	all his planned accommodation failed,
	all his actions and reactions are random,
	hot on the scent of a stonecold trail.
	And though she burns a candle to his memory
	all of her patience was bound to fail
	for he' s out there still
	with a thousandmile stare falling on his face,
	chasing after a thrill
	that' ll take him out beyond all sense of time and place.
	Head on into the unknown,
	here' s the man chasing mystery finally missing his own.
	But that' s how it goes
	at the edge of the road.
	There' s a cutting edge to the road
	at the end of the road,
	at the edge of the road.

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