I let a life slip
through my fingers Where am I gonna turn? I'm
the causing of the trouble And it makes
my poor heart burn
I been trying to tell you people That
the blues hit me in my life You know
I was born for trouble And it's a hard
road till I die
I'm gonna pack up my suitcase Put
my misery inside Throw in a bit of pain
and trouble And that's the road I'll
ride
|
|
ÀλýÀ» ÇêµÇÀÌ Èê·Á¹ö¸®°í ¸»¾Ò¾î ³
¾î¶»°Ô µÇ´Â °É±î ¹®Á¦ÀÇ ¿øÀÎÀº ¹Ù·Î ³ªÀÌ°í ±×·¡¼
°¡·ÃÇÑ ³» ¸¶À½ÀÌ ¾ÆÆÄ
³» Àλý¿¡´Â ¿ïÀûÇÔ »ÓÀ̾ú´Ù´Â °É »ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô
¸»ÇØ ¿Ô¾ú¾î ³ ¿ø·¡ ¹®Á¦¾Æ¿´°í Çè³ÇÑ
±æÀº Á×´Â ³¯±îÁö °è¼ÓµÉ °Å¾ß
ÁüÀ» ²Ù¸± °Å¾ß ±× ¾È¿¡ ³ªÀÇ ºñÂüÇÔÀ»
Áý¾î³Ö°í °íÅë°ú ±Ù½Éµµ Á¶±Ý ³Ö°í Çè³ÇÑ
±æÀº Á×´Â ³¯±îÁö °è¼ÓµÇ°ÚÁö
|