作词 : Leonard Cohen 作曲 : Leonard Cohen And who will write love songs for you When I am Lord at last And your body is the little highway shrine That all my priests have passed That all my priests have passed? My priests, they will put flowers there They will kneel before the glass But they'll wear away your little window, love They will trample on the grass They will trample on the grass And who will shoot the arrow That men will follow through your grace When I am Lord of memories And all your armor has turned to lace And all your armor has turned to lace? The simple life of heroes The twisted life of saints They just confuse the sunny calendar With their red and golden paint With their red and golden paint And all of you have seen the dance That God has kept from me But he has seen me watching you When all your minds were free When all your minds were free And who will write love songs for you When I am Lord at last And your body is the little highway shrine That all my priests have passed That all my priests have passed? My priests, they will put flowers there They will stand before the glass But they'll wear away your little window, love They will trample on the grass They will trample on the grass
作词 : Leonard Cohen 作曲 : Leonard Cohen And who will write love songs for you When I am Lord at last And your body is the little highway shrine That all my priests have passed That all my priests have passed? My priests, they will put flowers there They will kneel before the glass But they'll wear away your little window, love They will trample on the grass They will trample on the grass And who will shoot the arrow That men will follow through your grace When I am Lord of memories And all your armor has turned to lace And all your armor has turned to lace? The simple life of heroes The twisted life of saints They just confuse the sunny calendar With their red and golden paint With their red and golden paint And all of you have seen the dance That God has kept from me But he has seen me watching you When all your minds were free When all your minds were free And who will write love songs for you When I am Lord at last And your body is the little highway shrine That all my priests have passed That all my priests have passed? My priests, they will put flowers there They will stand before the glass But they'll wear away your little window, love They will trample on the grass They will trample on the grass
