название:

Bruised Orange


автор:

John Prine


жанры: folk, rock
альбомы: Bruised Orange
рейтинг: ★★★★★ / 4.6 / 639 просмотров
My heart's in the ice house, come hill or come valley
Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snowI heard sirens on the train track howl naked gettin' nuder
An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter
Just from walking with his back turned
To the train that was coming so slowYou can gaze out the window, get mad and get madder
Throw your hands in the air, say what does it matter?
But it don't do no good to get angry so help me, I knowFor a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter
You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own chain of sorrowI've been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there
I sat on a park bench, kissed the girl with the black hair
And my head shouted down to my heart
"You better look out below"Hey, it ain't such a long drop, don't stammer don't stutter
From the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter
And you carry those bruises to remind you wherever you goYou can gaze out the window, get mad and get madder
Throw your hands in the air, say what does it matter?
But it don't do no good to get angry so help me, I knowFor a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter
You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own chain of sorrowMy heart's in the ice house, come hill or come valley
Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snowI heard sirens on the train track howl naked gettin' nuder
An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter
Just from walking with his back turned
To the train that was coming so slowYou can gaze out the window, get mad and get madder
Throw your hands in the air, say what does it matter?
But it don't do no good to get angry so help me, I knowFor a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter
You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own chain of sorrow
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Это интересно:Prine is the son of William Prine and Verna Hamm. Prine himself started playing guitar at age 14, taught by his brother, David. He was a postman for five years and served in the Army before beginning his musical career in Chicago.In the late 1960s, while Prine was still delivering mail in Maywood, Illinois, he began to sing at open-mic evenings at the Fifth Peg on Armitage Avenue. Prine was initially a spectator, reluctant to perform, but eventually did so in response to a "You think you can do better?" comment made to him by another performer. Chicago Sun-Times movie critic Roger Ebert heard him there and wrote the first review Prine ever received, calling him a great songwriter.... продолжение
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