Song | On Hyndford Street |
Artist | Van Morrison |
Album | Hymns to the Silence |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Morrison | |
Take me back, take me way, way, way back | |
On Hyndford Street | |
Where you could feel the silence at half past eleven | |
On long summer nights | |
As the wireless played Radio Luxembourg | |
And the voices whispered across Beechie River | |
In the quietness as we sank into restful slumber in the silence | |
And carried on dreaming, in God | |
And walks up Cherry Valley from North Road Bridge, railway line | |
On sunny summer afternoons | |
Picking apples from the side of the tracks | |
That spilled over from the gardens of the houses on Cyprus Avenue | |
Watching the moth catcher working the floodlights in the evenings | |
And meeting down by the pylons | |
Playing round Mrs. Kelly's lamp | |
Going out to Holywood on the bus | |
And walking from the end of the lines to the seaside | |
Stopping at Fusco's for ice cream | |
In the days before rock `n' roll | |
Hyndford Street, Abetta Parade | |
Orangefield, St. Donard's Church | |
Sunday six bells, and in between the silence there was conversation | |
And laughter, and music and singing, and shivers up the back of the neck | |
And tuning in to Luxembourg late at night | |
And jazz and blues records during the day | |
Also Debussy on the third programme | |
Early mornings when contemplation was best | |
Going up the Castlereagh hills | |
And the cregagh glens in summer and coming back | |
To Hyndford Street, feeling wondrous and lit up inside | |
With a sense of everlasting life | |
And reading Mr. Jelly Roll and Big Bill Broonzy | |
And 'Really The Blues' by 'Mezz' Mezzrow | |
And 'Dharma Bums' by Jack Kerouac | |
Over and over again | |
And voices echoing late at night over Beechie River | |
And it's always being now, and it's always being now | |
It's always now | |
Can you feel the silence? | |
On Hyndford Street where you could feel the silence | |
At half past eleven on long summer nights | |
As the wireless played Radio Luxembourg | |
And the voices whispered across Beechie River | |
And in the quietness we sank into restful slumber in silence | |
And carried on dreaming in God. |
zuo ci : Morrison | |
Take me back, take me way, way, way back | |
On Hyndford Street | |
Where you could feel the silence at half past eleven | |
On long summer nights | |
As the wireless played Radio Luxembourg | |
And the voices whispered across Beechie River | |
In the quietness as we sank into restful slumber in the silence | |
And carried on dreaming, in God | |
And walks up Cherry Valley from North Road Bridge, railway line | |
On sunny summer afternoons | |
Picking apples from the side of the tracks | |
That spilled over from the gardens of the houses on Cyprus Avenue | |
Watching the moth catcher working the floodlights in the evenings | |
And meeting down by the pylons | |
Playing round Mrs. Kelly' s lamp | |
Going out to Holywood on the bus | |
And walking from the end of the lines to the seaside | |
Stopping at Fusco' s for ice cream | |
In the days before rock n' roll | |
Hyndford Street, Abetta Parade | |
Orangefield, St. Donard' s Church | |
Sunday six bells, and in between the silence there was conversation | |
And laughter, and music and singing, and shivers up the back of the neck | |
And tuning in to Luxembourg late at night | |
And jazz and blues records during the day | |
Also Debussy on the third programme | |
Early mornings when contemplation was best | |
Going up the Castlereagh hills | |
And the cregagh glens in summer and coming back | |
To Hyndford Street, feeling wondrous and lit up inside | |
With a sense of everlasting life | |
And reading Mr. Jelly Roll and Big Bill Broonzy | |
And ' Really The Blues' by ' Mezz' Mezzrow | |
And ' Dharma Bums' by Jack Kerouac | |
Over and over again | |
And voices echoing late at night over Beechie River | |
And it' s always being now, and it' s always being now | |
It' s always now | |
Can you feel the silence? | |
On Hyndford Street where you could feel the silence | |
At half past eleven on long summer nights | |
As the wireless played Radio Luxembourg | |
And the voices whispered across Beechie River | |
And in the quietness we sank into restful slumber in silence | |
And carried on dreaming in God. |
zuò cí : Morrison | |
Take me back, take me way, way, way back | |
On Hyndford Street | |
Where you could feel the silence at half past eleven | |
On long summer nights | |
As the wireless played Radio Luxembourg | |
And the voices whispered across Beechie River | |
In the quietness as we sank into restful slumber in the silence | |
And carried on dreaming, in God | |
And walks up Cherry Valley from North Road Bridge, railway line | |
On sunny summer afternoons | |
Picking apples from the side of the tracks | |
That spilled over from the gardens of the houses on Cyprus Avenue | |
Watching the moth catcher working the floodlights in the evenings | |
And meeting down by the pylons | |
Playing round Mrs. Kelly' s lamp | |
Going out to Holywood on the bus | |
And walking from the end of the lines to the seaside | |
Stopping at Fusco' s for ice cream | |
In the days before rock n' roll | |
Hyndford Street, Abetta Parade | |
Orangefield, St. Donard' s Church | |
Sunday six bells, and in between the silence there was conversation | |
And laughter, and music and singing, and shivers up the back of the neck | |
And tuning in to Luxembourg late at night | |
And jazz and blues records during the day | |
Also Debussy on the third programme | |
Early mornings when contemplation was best | |
Going up the Castlereagh hills | |
And the cregagh glens in summer and coming back | |
To Hyndford Street, feeling wondrous and lit up inside | |
With a sense of everlasting life | |
And reading Mr. Jelly Roll and Big Bill Broonzy | |
And ' Really The Blues' by ' Mezz' Mezzrow | |
And ' Dharma Bums' by Jack Kerouac | |
Over and over again | |
And voices echoing late at night over Beechie River | |
And it' s always being now, and it' s always being now | |
It' s always now | |
Can you feel the silence? | |
On Hyndford Street where you could feel the silence | |
At half past eleven on long summer nights | |
As the wireless played Radio Luxembourg | |
And the voices whispered across Beechie River | |
And in the quietness we sank into restful slumber in silence | |
And carried on dreaming in God. |