我们在黑夜里泪流满面

为什么我们总是失败

 

Good times for a change
See, the luck I've had
Can make a good man turn bad

So please please please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time

Haven't had a dream in a long time
See, the life I've had
Can make a good man turn bad

So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time
Lord knows, it would be the first time

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ma grand-mère a quelque chose, que les autres femmes n'ont pas
Ma grand-mère est une rose, d'un rose qui n'existe pas
Du moins à ma connaissance, je ne vois pas,
S'immiscer l'ombre d'une chance ici-bas.

Mes plus lointains souvenirs, remontent jusque dans ses bras
Je n'ai jamais vraiment compris pourquoi elle seule était comme ça.

Lorsqu'elle me parle du passé, je vois son regard s'éclairer
Elle ne parle que des bons moments, fait main basse sur les mauvais
C'est malheureux mais quand j'y pense, je ne peux pas,
Imaginer un jour la France, sans qu'elle soit là.

Mes plus lointains souvenirs, remontent jusque dans ses bras
Je n'ai jamais vraiment compris pourquoi elle seule était comme ça.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Blue Foundation

 

I’ll seek you out,
Flay you alive
One more word and you won’t survive
And I’m not scared of your stolen power
I see right through you any hour

I won’t soothe your pain
I won’t ease your strain
You’ll be waiting in vain
I got nothing for you to gain

I’m taking it slow
Feeding my flame
Shuffling the cards of your game
And just in time
In the right place
Suddenly I will play my ace

I won’t soothe your pain
I won’t ease your strain
You’ll be waiting in vain
I got nothing for you to gain

Eyes on fire
Your spine is ablaze
Felling any foe with my gaze

And just in time
In the right place
Steadily emerging with grace

Felling any foe with my gaze
Steadily emerging with grace
Felling any foe with my gaze
Steadily emerging with grace

 

受不了了，片子里男女主角就一张面孔，不会有另外一种表情了。。。

装死了，和爸爸对话，和同学对话，和邻居对话，和老师对话，全摆一副臭脸

你当你是流川枫啊……

 

不过说回来，那首Bella's lullaby的钢琴曲原声还是很惊艳了，片子就。。。算了吧

 

 

 

 

 

 

The radio was on as usual. For a second she stood by the window and watched the people inside. The bald-headed man and the gray-haired lady were playing cards at a table. Mick sat on the ground. This was a very fine and secret place. Close around were thick cedars so that she was completely hidden by herself. The radio was no good tonight—somebody sang popular songs that all ended in the same way. It was like she was empty. She reached in her pockets and felt around with her fingers. There were raisins and a buckeye and a string of beads— one cigarette with matches. She lighted the cigarette and put her arms around her knees. It was like she was so empty there wasn't even a feeling or thought in her.
One program came on after another, and all of them were punk. She didn't especially care. She smoked and picked a little bunch of grass blades. After a while a new announcer started talking. He mentioned Beethoven. She had read in the library about that musician—his name was pronounced with an a and spelled with double e. He was a German fellow like Mozart When he was living he spoke in a foreign language and lived in a foreign place— like she wanted to do. The announcer said they were going to play his third symphony. She only halfway listened because she wanted to walk some more and she didn't care much what they played. Then the music started. Mick raised her head and her fist went up to her throat.
How did it come? For a minute the opening balanced from one side to the other. Like a walk or march. Like God strutting in the night. The outside of her was suddenly froze and only that first part of the music was hot inside her heart. She could not even hear what sounded after, but she sat there waiting and froze, with her fists tight. After a while the music came again, harder and loud. It didn't have anything to do with God. This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings. This music was her—the real plain her.
She could not listen good enough to hear it alL The music boiled inside her. Which? To hang on to certain wonderful parts and think them over so that later she would not forget—or should she let go and listen to each part that came without thinking or trying to remember? Golly! The whole world was this music and she could not listen hard enough. Then at last the opening music came again, with all the different instruments bunched together for each note like a hard, tight fist that socked at her heart And the first part was over.
This music did not take a long time or a short time. It did not have anything to do with time going by at all. She sat with her arms held tight around her legs, biting her salty knee very hard. It might have been five minutes she listened or half the night. The second part was black-colored—a slow march. Not sad, but like the whole world was dead and black and there was no use thinking back how it was before. One of those horn kind of instruments played a sad and silver tune. Then the music rose up angry and with excitement underneath. And finally the black march again.
But maybe the last part of the symphony was the music she loved the best—glad and like the greatest people in the world running and springing up in a hard, free way. Wonderful music nice this was the worst hurt there could be. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen.
It was over, and she sat very stiff with her arms around her knees. Another program came on the radio and she put her fingers in her ears. The music left only this bad hurt in her, and a blankness. She could not remember any of the symphony, not even the last few notes. She tried to remember, but no sound at all came to her. Now that it was over there was only her heart like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.
The radio and the lights in the house were turned off. The night was very dark. Suddenly Mick began hitting her thigh with her fists. She pounded the same muscle with all her strength until the tears came down her face. But she could not feel this hard enough. The rocks under the bush were sharp. She grabbed a handful of them and began scraping them up and down on the same spot until her hand was bloody. Then she fell back to the ground and lay looking up at the night. With the fiery hurt in her leg she felt better. She was limp on the wet grass, and after a while her breath came slow and easy again.
Why hadn't the explorers known by looking at the sky that the world was round? The sky was curved, like the inside of a huge glass ball, very dark blue with the sprinkles of bright stars. The night was quiet. There was the smell of warm cedars. She was not trying to think of the music at all when it came back to her. The first part happened hi her mind just as it had been played. She listened in a quiet, slow way and thought the notes out like a problem in geometry so she would remember. She could see the shape of the sounds very clear and she would not forget them.
Now she felt good. She whispered some words out loud: 'Lord forgiveth me, for I knoweth not what I do.' Why did she think of that? Everybody in the past few years knew there wasn't any real God. When she thought of what she used to imagine was God she could only see Mister Singer with a long, white sheet around him. God was silent— maybe that was why she was reminded. She said the words again, just as she would speak them to Mister Singer: 'Lord forgiveth me, for I knoweth not what I do.'
This part of the music was beautiful and clear. She could sing it now whenever she wanted to. Maybe later on, when she had just waked up some morning, more of the music would come back to her. If ever she heard the symphony again there would be other parts to add to what was already in her mind. And maybe if she could hear it four more times, just four more times, she would know it all. Maybe.
Once again she listened to this opening part of the music. Then the notes grew slower and soft and it was like she was sinking down slowly into the dark ground.
Mick awoke with a jerk. The air had turned chilly, and as she was coming up out of the sleep she dreamed old Etta Kelly was taking all the cover. 'Gimme some blanket ------' she tried to say. Then she opened her eyes. The sky was very black and all the stars were gone. The grass was wet. She got up in a hurry because her Dad would be worried. Then she remembered the music. She couldn't tell whether the time was midnight or three in the morning, so she started beating it for home in a rush. The air had a smell in it like autumn. The music was loud and quick in her mind, and she ran faster and faster on the sidewalks leading to the home block.

 

 

 

 

不知道从哪里冒出来的爸爸猫，跟我家小王子长得一模一样，不过大了整整3圈，肉头紧，身体壮，毛发短硬

给我摸，但明显不献媚，心不在焉，东张西望

 

 

 

好久没写这种肉酸的乐评了，不过确实已经两天了，听着这首歌，我可以什么都不干，就坐着听，忘记了我的学习计划，忘记了我的阅读计划，忘记了烦恼。

傻了，一整个傻子。浑身无力啊，听得我这叫一个痴迷陶醉啊。我居然和伟大的键盘手合到影了，我的天哪~~~

这首曲子无论从哪里来看都那么无懈可击，鼓，吉他，键盘，我的天哪！

 

 

我又傻了，刚才听着，忘记打字了。都不知道说些什么了，脑子变空白了。

 

居然产生爱情排他性了，满脑子Lobi，什么也装不进了……

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One is a gun with a dart for my sweetheart
　　Two only you can remove such an ache-heart
　　Three let me see what you've got, what you're made of, what you're not
　　Four is sore just a ripped and bloody claw
　　
　　Five is a punching fist that's within me
　　Six little stitches thread right through my heart
　　Seven shining reasons tearing us apart
　　Eight loose your hate it's a game come on love me it's your fate
　　
　　
　　Dart for my sweet heart
　　Dart for my sweet heart
　　
　　Nine cold crimes in the night please forgive me
　　Ten are the tears that are frozen on your face
　　Eleven I know I'm not your favorite man
　　Twelve I'll take you like only I can
　　
　　
　　Dart for my sweet heart
　　Dart for my sweet heart