Hull or Hell Lyrics

	作曲 : Chumbawamba
	Of larks trains windows and brooks
	The poet he writes it all down in his book
	Won't meet your eye but he wants you to look
	In Hull or hell he lies
	Lambs in the winter and swans in the spring
	Children at play they're like birds on the wing
	And the poet he writes that the sun seems to swing
	In Hull or hell he lies
	Away from the world and away from the page
	Hidden in corners the gathering of age
	Retreats to the wings where he once held the stage
	In Hull or hell he lies
	The dirt and the filth that we don't get to see
	That's eating his language away
	This yellow-eyed nastiness hides from the light of the day
	Resenting the everyday growing so old
	Where winter once pictured as flowers in fold
	Turned frosty and bitter and weathered and cold
	In Hull or hell he lies
	His housemaid she tried but the dirt grew so fast
	The darkest of colours he nailed to the mast
	Stuck in his ways like he's stuck in the past

	zuo qu : Chumbawamba
	Of larks trains windows and brooks
	The poet he writes it all down in his book
	Won' t meet your eye but he wants you to look
	In Hull or hell he lies
	Lambs in the winter and swans in the spring
	Children at play they' re like birds on the wing
	And the poet he writes that the sun seems to swing
	In Hull or hell he lies
	Away from the world and away from the page
	Hidden in corners the gathering of age
	Retreats to the wings where he once held the stage
	In Hull or hell he lies
	The dirt and the filth that we don' t get to see
	That' s eating his language away
	This yelloweyed nastiness hides from the light of the day
	Resenting the everyday growing so old
	Where winter once pictured as flowers in fold
	Turned frosty and bitter and weathered and cold
	In Hull or hell he lies
	His housemaid she tried but the dirt grew so fast
	The darkest of colours he nailed to the mast
	Stuck in his ways like he' s stuck in the past

	zuò qǔ : Chumbawamba
	Of larks trains windows and brooks
	The poet he writes it all down in his book
	Won' t meet your eye but he wants you to look
	In Hull or hell he lies
	Lambs in the winter and swans in the spring
	Children at play they' re like birds on the wing
	And the poet he writes that the sun seems to swing
	In Hull or hell he lies
	Away from the world and away from the page
	Hidden in corners the gathering of age
	Retreats to the wings where he once held the stage
	In Hull or hell he lies
	The dirt and the filth that we don' t get to see
	That' s eating his language away
	This yelloweyed nastiness hides from the light of the day
	Resenting the everyday growing so old
	Where winter once pictured as flowers in fold
	Turned frosty and bitter and weathered and cold
	In Hull or hell he lies
	His housemaid she tried but the dirt grew so fast
	The darkest of colours he nailed to the mast
	Stuck in his ways like he' s stuck in the past

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