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  • 作曲 : The Decemberists
    This cocoon, caught in Vesuvius' shadow
    Only the ashes remain
    And I waited there for you
    Why couldn't you?
    Here we lie waiting for something to startle
    To shake us from gravity's pull
    And so the sleeping hours are through
    What can we do?
    The tainted election, the low dirty war
    It happened before you came to
    But this is solution and this is amends
    The joke always tends to come true
    But there on your windowsill
    Over the unmoving platoon
    Written in paperback, the key to the quarterback's room
    Under waning moon
    This quiet serves only to hide you
    Provide you
    What I knew, it'd come back to you
    Take this palm, follow the lines here are written
    And script out the rest of your life
    And feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back
    The sorry conclusion, the hole in the sky
    Command what is tried, what is true
    But without solution, with feet on the ground
    It won't make a sound 'til you're through
    So loosen your shoulder blades
    This is your hour to make due
    Because there on the timberline
    Deep cold November shines through
    Soft and absolute
  • 作曲 : The Decemberists
    This cocoon, caught in Vesuvius' shadow
    Only the ashes remain
    And I waited there for you
    Why couldn't you?
    Here we lie waiting for something to startle
    To shake us from gravity's pull
    And so the sleeping hours are through
    What can we do?
    The tainted election, the low dirty war
    It happened before you came to
    But this is solution and this is amends
    The joke always tends to come true
    But there on your windowsill
    Over the unmoving platoon
    Written in paperback, the key to the quarterback's room
    Under waning moon
    This quiet serves only to hide you
    Provide you
    What I knew, it'd come back to you
    Take this palm, follow the lines here are written
    And script out the rest of your life
    And feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back
    The sorry conclusion, the hole in the sky
    Command what is tried, what is true
    But without solution, with feet on the ground
    It won't make a sound 'til you're through
    So loosen your shoulder blades
    This is your hour to make due
    Because there on the timberline
    Deep cold November shines through
    Soft and absolute