[00:00.00] 作曲 : Joe Newman/Gus Unger-Hamilton/Thom Green
[00:03.34][Instrumental Intro]
[01:54.31]
[01:39.26]There was a wayward lad
[01:45.32]Stepped out one morning
[01:54.72]The ground to be his bed
[02:00.26]The sky his awning
[02:04.76]
[02:09.56]Neon, neon, neon
[02:14.68]A blue neon lamp in a midnight country field
[02:24.50]Cows surround so you lean on, lean on
[02:30.67]So much your hugs become hold ons
[02:35.89]
[02:38.82]Oh, these three worn words
[02:41.75]Oh, that we whisper
[02:45.09]Like the rubbing hands
[02:47.60]Of tourists in Verona
[02:52.30]I just want to love you in my own language
[02:57.94]
[03:10.58]Well, that smell of ***
[03:13.82]Good like burning wood
[03:17.06]The wayward lad lay claim
[03:22.91]To two thirsty girls from Hornsea
[03:29.29]Who left a note when dawn came
[03:34.51]
[03:35.66]Girls from the pool say "Hi" (hi)
[03:41.20]The road erodes at five feet per year
[03:44.65]Along England's east coastline
[03:47.57]Was this your first time?
[03:53.43]Love is just a button we pressed
[03:56.98]Last night by the campfire
[03:59.59]
[03:59.90]Oh, these three worn words
[04:02.62]Oh, that we whisper
[04:05.75]Like the rubbing hands
[04:08.58]Of tourists in Verona
[04:13.59]I just want to love you in my own language

作曲 : Joe Newman/Gus Unger-Hamilton/Thom Green

There was a wayward lad
Stepped out one morning
The ground to be his bed
The sky his awning
Neon, neon, neon
A blue neon lamp in a midnight country field
Cows surround so you lean on, lean on
So much your hugs become hold ons
Oh, these three worn words
Oh, that we whisper
Like the rubbing hands
Of tourists in Verona
I just want to love you in my own language
Well, that smell of ***
Good like burning wood
The wayward lad lay claim
To two thirsty girls from Hornsea
Who left a note when dawn came
Girls from the pool say "Hi" (hi)
The road erodes at five feet per year
Along England's east coastline
Was this your first time?
Love is just a button we pressed
Last night by the campfire
Oh, these three worn words
Oh, that we whisper
Like the rubbing hands
Of tourists in Verona
I just want to love you in my own language