Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Wheelbarrow, artist - Major Parkinson. Album song Twilight Cinema, in the genre Иностранный рокDate of issue: 23.01.2014
Record label: Degaton
Song language: English
The Wheelbarrow |
| This is your life, it isn’t much |
| Learning to live, learning to touch |
| Pulling the brakes, but still the wheels keep turning around |
| This is your life, and it is mundane |
| Follow the tracks in a maze through the barrens |
| Never to find your way home |
| Circling vultures and flickering lanterns |
| Showed you the way to the square of your mind |
| Moving the hands that you claim as your own |
| It’s inevitable, it’s inevitable like time |
| Poor Lizzy McKay, she wasn’t the same after the crash |
| According to rumors she had a relapse, or may I say, a nervous breakdown |
| Nothing was real excpt the old memories of summrtime |
| Hobbling barefoot over the pebbles and bubble wrap |
| She was the queen among the powder’d bag-wigs and ruffy-tuffy heads |
| Poor Lizzy McKay, she wasn’t the same after the fall |
| With letters from Paris and cabinet card pictures from Montreal |
| Having a ball, lost in the pages of the devouring summertime |
| Lizzy McKay created a garden of figurines and libertines among the statues of |
| clay |
| She can do anything, she can love everyone |
| Doing the same routine over and over |
| Sparkling diamond ring, doing the highland fling |
| Pulling the same routine over and over |
| Dancing through repetition |
| Poor mr. |
| Demille, he wasn’t the same after the war |
| Lost in delirium, he was Napoleons troubadour at Borodino |
| Always too feeble, always too quail for the kettledrum |
| Down at the floodgate he was a priest with a timber boom |
| He thought a spike broom was a gunstock of hay |
| He can do anything, he can fight anyone |
| Doing the same routine over and over |
| Cold as a diamond ring, covered in gabardine |
| Marching through time, he gets older and older |
| We can do anything, we can change everyone |
| Pulling the same routine over and over |
| Writing a symphony of dwelling disharmony |
| Pulling the plug is just out of the question |
| Dance me through repetition! |
| Spruces and foxgloves in plum colored cascades |
| Wheelbarrows of pinecones and cloudberry cream |
| It’s Monday, it’s Tuesday, and nothing is happening |
| Squirrels and ducks pushing marbles |
| The conifer forest is yours for the rest of the day |
| There’s no way of knowing, the river keeps flowing on and on and on |
| This is your life, it isn’t much |
| Learning to live, learning to touch |
| Pulling the brakes, but still the wheels keep turning around |
| This is your life, and it is mundane |
| Follow the tracks in a maze through the barrens |
| Never to find your way home |
| Circling vultures and flickering lanterns |
| Showed you the way to the square of your mind |
| Moving the hands that you claim as your own |
| It’s inevitable, it’s inevitable like time |
| She can do anything, he can change anyone |
| Doing the same routine over and over |
| Bold as a diamond ring, doing the highland fling |
| Marching through time, they get older and older |
| Dancing, dancing, dancing |