Aker Brygge
It's 2 am on Aker brygge
Still can't figure out what's wrong.
Like a rhyme I can't remember
From some half-forgotten song.
My childhood fear of Dracula
Who could vapourise through walls.
A hair in the soup, fly in the ointment
An outsider can be a threat.
Ah that scent of burning oxen
Just offends me said the Lord.
And my thoughts took flight
That november night,
Above Woodland, over mountain
and over fjord.
I heard a newborn nation crying
Amid the whispers of the dying,
And I wondered if this nation
Could be mine.
Our Metropolis, this Gotham city
All our wealth and good taste too.
Makes us feel so patriotic
To be among the chosen few.
And those who cannot feel this pride,
Can just stand freezing in their queues,
United we stand, celebrate our land,
We pick these stones, out of our shoes.
Ah that scent of burning oxen
Can be persuasive said the Lord.
And my thoughts took flight
That november night
Above Woodland, over mountain
and over fjord.
I heard a newborn nation crying
Amid the whispers of the dying
And I longed for this new nation
To be mine.
All these bars where Munch and Ibsen
We're told partied and licked their wounds.
Hair in the soup,fly in the ointment,
An outsider is always a threat.
Ah that scent of burning oxen
Will ensnare you said the Lord.
Still can't figure out what's wrong.
Like a rhyme I can't remember
From some half-forgotten song.
My childhood fear of Dracula
Who could vapourise through walls.
A hair in the soup, fly in the ointment
An outsider can be a threat.
Ah that scent of burning oxen
Just offends me said the Lord.
And my thoughts took flight
That november night,
Above Woodland, over mountain
and over fjord.
I heard a newborn nation crying
Amid the whispers of the dying,
And I wondered if this nation
Could be mine.
Our Metropolis, this Gotham city
All our wealth and good taste too.
Makes us feel so patriotic
To be among the chosen few.
And those who cannot feel this pride,
Can just stand freezing in their queues,
United we stand, celebrate our land,
We pick these stones, out of our shoes.
Ah that scent of burning oxen
Can be persuasive said the Lord.
And my thoughts took flight
That november night
Above Woodland, over mountain
and over fjord.
I heard a newborn nation crying
Amid the whispers of the dying
And I longed for this new nation
To be mine.
All these bars where Munch and Ibsen
We're told partied and licked their wounds.
Hair in the soup,fly in the ointment,
An outsider is always a threat.
Ah that scent of burning oxen
Will ensnare you said the Lord.
Credits
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
Other Album Tracks
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.