作曲 : Ed Harcourt 鼓 : Nick Yeatman 音频工程师 : Tchad Blake 贝斯 : Arnulf Lindner 低音吉他 : Arnulf Lindner 吉他 : Leo Abrahams At the bottom of an empty glass See myself going nowhere fast And the barman tells me it's time to leave But I haven't got time to care If I have so much love to give Where is that will to live? Maybe you old friend will show me how Come here pull up a chair I get paid, paid to get drunk Spend my money on any old junk And every morning kills my soul At the end, the end of each day Every drink is directed my way Well every morning kills my soul Sports plays on the corner screen This feels like a movie scene And I'm long past done with clichés and all My eyes are much to blurred This is how I live my life Escaping worries, eternal strife And I'll try to talk to anyone But my speech is much too slurred I get paid, paid to get drunk Spend my money on any old junk And every morning kills my soul At the end, the end of each day Every drink is directed my way Well every morning kills my soul Oh ah oh Oh ah Oh oh oh Ah ah ah At the bottom of an empty glass See myself going nowhere fast And the barman tells me it's time to leave But I haven't got time to care
作曲 : Ed Harcourt 鼓 : Nick Yeatman 音频工程师 : Tchad Blake 贝斯 : Arnulf Lindner 低音吉他 : Arnulf Lindner 吉他 : Leo Abrahams At the bottom of an empty glass See myself going nowhere fast And the barman tells me it's time to leave But I haven't got time to care If I have so much love to give Where is that will to live? Maybe you old friend will show me how Come here pull up a chair I get paid, paid to get drunk Spend my money on any old junk And every morning kills my soul At the end, the end of each day Every drink is directed my way Well every morning kills my soul Sports plays on the corner screen This feels like a movie scene And I'm long past done with clichés and all My eyes are much to blurred This is how I live my life Escaping worries, eternal strife And I'll try to talk to anyone But my speech is much too slurred I get paid, paid to get drunk Spend my money on any old junk And every morning kills my soul At the end, the end of each day Every drink is directed my way Well every morning kills my soul Oh ah oh Oh ah Oh oh oh Ah ah ah At the bottom of an empty glass See myself going nowhere fast And the barman tells me it's time to leave But I haven't got time to care
