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Malediction歌词

歌曲名: Malediction  歌手: Diamanda Galás  所属专辑: 《You Must Be Certain of the Devil》

介绍:《Malediction》 是 Diamanda Galás 演唱的歌曲,该歌曲收录在《You Must Be Certain of the Devil》专辑中,如果您觉得好听的话,就把歌词分享给您的朋友共同聆听,一起支持歌手Diamanda Galás吧!

Malediction

作词 : Galas
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
of the young man who ran screaming through
the street,
streaming blood in trails of terror,
are the arms that point me to my door,
which forsaken by the blood of Jesus,
invites the Devil, who now waits for me outside.
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
are the arms that point me to the red eyes
of the pentecostal killers and the black eyes
of the roman catholic killers and the blue eyes
of the pinhead skinhead killers,
and the dirty angel does his target practice night
and day,
making ready now to steal my soul away.
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
are the arms that wait between my T.V. and my gun,
while the winks and smiles of singing debutantes
and eunuchs whisper,
"We don't want you, Unclean, lying there in vomit,
filth, and perspiration,
coming back with Elvis or with Jesus from the dead."
The arms that you cut off the body
of the screaming young man
dance before my eyes the endless murder of my soul
which, taunted every hour by open windows,
has kept itself alive with prayer,
but not for miracles,
and not for heaven.
Just for silence
and for mercy
until the end.

MaledictionLRC歌词

作词 : Galas
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
of the young man who ran screaming through
the street,
streaming blood in trails of terror,
are the arms that point me to my door,
which forsaken by the blood of Jesus,
invites the Devil, who now waits for me outside.
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
are the arms that point me to the red eyes
of the pentecostal killers and the black eyes
of the roman catholic killers and the blue eyes
of the pinhead skinhead killers,
and the dirty angel does his target practice night
and day,
making ready now to steal my soul away.
The arms that you cut off that Sunday night
are the arms that wait between my T.V. and my gun,
while the winks and smiles of singing debutantes
and eunuchs whisper,
"We don't want you, Unclean, lying there in vomit,
filth, and perspiration,
coming back with Elvis or with Jesus from the dead."
The arms that you cut off the body
of the screaming young man
dance before my eyes the endless murder of my soul
which, taunted every hour by open windows,
has kept itself alive with prayer,
but not for miracles,
and not for heaven.
Just for silence
and for mercy
until the end.

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