Those Winter Sundays-Ronald Shannon Jackson
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TXT Those Winter Sundays-Ronald Shannon Jackson 文本歌词
Those Winter Sundays - Ronald Shannon Jackson
Composed by：Ronald Shannon Jackson
Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueblack cold
Then with cracked hands that ached
From labor in the weekday weather made
Banked fires blaze
No one ever thanked him
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering breaking
When the rooms were warm he'd call
And slowly I would rise and dress
Fearing the chronic angers of that house
Speaking indifferently to him
Who had driven out the cold
And polished my good shoes as well
What did I know what did I know
Of love's austere and lonely offices
Those Winter Sundays-Ronald Shannon Jackson 推荐歌曲
Puttin' On The Dog专辑下载
（1999-01-01）