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13ghosts
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In the morning I see you cryin No one is around At this ungodly hour. All the whiskey in your bottle Is no more than the canvas on the page.
Once an angel in the evening, Helped you pour it down and shut it out Just today I saw you realize She don't come here anymore
And now when you lay down sleep Everything you dream will lose it's meaning The music you've tried to create Will only transmit soft and _____?
Sorry that's it come to this Surely you must have known You were going down.
In the evening I see you smilin' Everyone's around when the sun goes down All the whiskey in your bottle Is no more than a drink to pass around
Once a wise man told you What you don't finish will finish you Just today I saw you realize He don't come here anymore
Now, when you lay down to sleep Everything you see will take on meaning Music you've tried to create Will only love you un... that you ...ase...
Sorry that it's come to this Surely you must have known It was coming down
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Here lie that last manuscripts of Carter John Leibowitz The last living man in the loneliest town On the desperate border Of southwestern Canada He wrote all his poems in invisible ink And then buried them all in the snow
And then when finally Carter John Leibowitz Burned up in a passionate fire Born of his own convictions All of his poems Were eaten by wandering foxes
They'd been written on the blue skins Of ten thousand berries Traced like the peaches Of those children uncarried Committed to form by a hand which Knew nothing of form
So here lie the last manuscripts Of Carter John Leibowitz Which no one has read from, Which no one can read from again
Now the same could be said of 更多更詳盡歌詞 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔鏡歌詞網 Miss Margaret Turtledove She sang all the songs she made in to a jar Then she capped them with sealing wax Planked them and screwed them fast She flung them down in a well and Poisoned the aquifer And covered them over with mud
And when Margaret Turtledove Had buried the things she loved She found there was nothing dug Could never be undug She poured herself down the hole And mined for her lost jar of song
But the ground was well satisfied Her table was empty The roots of the hollow trees Had filled themselves plenty The kings of the under-soil had poured All her songs down their throats
Then Margaret Turtledove The last thing she ever sung A song in a broken key A tune with no melody A verse with no words to sing Which no one has ever heard Which no one can ever hear again
Now you steal down your passageways And hide mirrors on your stage And everyone is watching As you fall through the floor But remember what I said to you The best thing and only thing you do Is disappear When anyone calls at you you cut and run This is the only magic that you know
And you walk through your endless days And gather your bills to pay And the women that you cower with Will never bear your child And the only way you'll never die Is writing songs, poetic lies Anything to make your legacy
But the ground will one day open up Swallow you in it The work you've done is now undone You never began it The only thing immortal is the epitaph We will carve in your stone
Here lie the last manuscripts The words to the songs unwrit The poems in it meaningless The memories of what you did Collected in your consciousness The only thing you ever made The only thing you ever were The only thing you'll ever be Which no one has read from Which no one can read from again
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