我愛看電影。電影需要成本,成本不只是錢,還考量到人力、時間、場地、天氣,若是更要求或有風格的導演,會更喜歡某些畫面,到最後有些努力看來都是徒勞。 何苦? 這大概是很多台北人想問自己的問題。何苦讓自己置身在看似美麗的畫框中卻交由別人上色?何苦讓唇齒之間的美樂越不過聚寶盆的框架?何苦玩弄自己的極限直到已經模糊了?回頭看時,再何苦不讓自己心之鳥翱翔? 所以,為何而苦? 「苦」不是人人都嘗過,嘗的滋味跟方式也不盡相同。 最近我又回到台北城,喜歡亂跑所以煩心。從台大回到林家花園,不知道大家會用什麼方式?我喜歡慢來,加上經濟因素的考慮。我搭捷運。捷運有藍綠色的線,是交叉的。像是高雄的紅橘色。從西門轉車,要換樓層,換完一個階梯,我看到車來了! 馬上跳上去。結果看一下霓虹燈顯示的是綠色的資料。看到我臉都綠了。當時是已經不能再回首啦! 然後呢? 沒什麼? 但是,走到台北感受到風寒。覺得自己真憨,或許還是個人吧! 在南下的路上,我這樣想。 結果到成大了! 優秀。很多會唱歌的人在成大。 第一個我遇到的。是黑色的人。號稱有愛。其實保存期限到晉。 第二個。是紅色的人。 夠了? 第三。沒有。我只是幫忙算塔羅。卻得到: 你怎麼知道? 真妙。世界運行的方式,淘汰掉不需要的。不寧的補足心的。 女人,若真想讓自己醉。喝去淚和咖啡,可望已久的愛隨風。 忘了我是誰。謝謝宗盛大哥跟山地大姐。 越過山丘 我開始我的流浪記。 怎樣?才能夠看穿。面劇? 為你寫詩 為你靜紙吧? 「 我在乎誰 太愚昧 騙自己 沒有罪 面具操弄著傀儡 誰沒有這種防備 在乎誰 太可悲 笑著說無法體會 轉身又走入了漆黑 還得裝作 已經無所謂 」 《太陽躲進雲裡 你就不見了 於是剛剛入夜的台北 又開始下雨 我看著雨中的101 它離我好近 可你在哪裡 飛機穿過雲層 我就睡著了 以為剛剛遠去的故鄉 也飄起小雨 南京東路帶著面具 它和我一樣 試圖忍住淚滴 雨下的太急 像一場公路電影 從城市人群 到港口風景 快讓我昏迷 讓我擁有你 像歲月擁有每一張日曆 潮濕的記憶 都被困在 台北下的雨》 For Carl Solomon I I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination— ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time— and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years. II What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination? Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks! Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men! Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments! Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb! Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities! Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind! Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch! Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky! Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs! They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us! Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river! Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit! Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time! Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street! III Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland where you’re madder than I am I’m with you in Rockland where you must feel very strange I’m with you in Rockland where you imitate the shade of my mother I’m with you in Rockland where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries I’m with you in Rockland where you laugh at this invisible humor I’m with you in Rockland where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter I’m with you in Rockland where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio I’m with you in Rockland where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses I'm with you in Rockland where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica I’m with you in Rockland where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx I’m with you in Rockland where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss I’m with you in Rockland where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse I’m with you in Rockland where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void I’m with you in Rockland where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha I’m with you in Rockland where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb I’m with you in Rockland where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale I’m with you in Rockland where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep I’m with you in Rockland where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we’re free I’m with you in Rockland in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night San Francisco, 1955—1956 像一場公路電影,快讓我昏迷。像歲月永友、每一張日記。 那一晚,縱貫線{給自己的歌},吐訴思念台北的十年之情。 一首讓男人感嘆、女人又恨又愛的經典箴言~原來不只是情歌。 那晚的一巴掌,翻起了所有人的驚濤駭浪.... 女人泛淚的叫好、男人喟歎的淚流 原來「那」是如此的無法原諒,仍然令你膽顫心驚...餘威陣陣 好久不見的李宗盛別來無恙, 李宗盛的愛情現在不是老、不是怪,只是有別於年輕時 這是一首你我都能夠在每一字句找到自己的一首歌, 讓2010年在台北終點站目睹這首歌的誕生的萬名男女同時哭泣的一首歌,Facebook、Street Voice、部落格2小時10萬人推薦轉寄,不鳴不快的一首歌。但,這不只是一首歌,這是在情愛裡的每個人的靈魂呼喊, 沒有人能夠像縱貫線一樣,用這樣的字句,挖出世間男女心中最後的一聲吶喊。 縱貫線2010年最終場、李宗盛現場錄音首度發表作品。 當天演出之後,遂造成噗浪臉書瘋狂洗版討論、連續一周瘋狂搜尋轉載連結。 那晚的一巴掌,有打到你嗎? .... 縱貫線世界巡迴最終回台北首場夜出現一個令人動容的奇蹟。 創作巨匠李宗盛在這晚唱出一個簡單靈魂的真心吶喊, 略帶沙啞的沈穩嗓音、精準細膩鑽進人心的歌詞, 一字一句剖開男人女人各半的痛徹心扉。 而不只現場觀眾用淚水回報李宗盛【給自己的歌】氣力撕裂般的呼喊, 大小網路平台包括Facebook臉書、噗浪Plurk、土豆網更是陷入瘋狂的洗版轉載,將這一個美好的奇蹟夜一再流傳遠播。 【給自己的歌】首唱後大哥說道, 原來這首歌的DEMO早在縱貫線剛成立時就完成了, 一方面由於巡迴演唱忙碌,一方面直覺這首歌的旋律會是很難得的好作品, 所以遲遲沒動筆填詞。直到2009年聖誕節杭州巡迴場之前, 才正式錄製完成,而時間剛好趕上了台北最終場, 也讓小巨蛋成了【給自己的歌】首次發表的最佳舞台! 李宗盛成立LEE GUITAR後,離開台北將近十年了... 懷抱著對台北所有一切的濃烈思念, 即使才剛錄完音對【給自己的歌】還不到十足把握, 但他還是決定把這首歌獻給台北的朋友, 「我想這首歌...大家聽了,應該能感受到小李過去十年的日子的滋味......一首歌,說我過去十年說不出的,不能說的...生活的感受。」 這不只是一首有感覺的情歌,更是寫出一個真實男人對人生的坦誠交代。 李宗盛用超越十年的時間換得歌詞開頭這11個音階 , 「想得卻不可得,你奈人生何」, 過去人稱歌壇鬼才的填詞聖手重新提筆,獻出最熾熱誠懇的真心, 赤裸坦露回憶深處的靈魂感觸。 給自己的歌 詞曲 李宗盛@縱貫線 編曲 縱貫線SuperBand 你奈人生何 該捨的捨不得 只顧著跟往事瞎扯 等你發現時間是賊了 它早已偷光你的選擇 愛戀不過是一場高燒 思念是緊跟著的好不了的咳 是不能原諒卻無法阻擋 恨意在夜裡翻牆 是空空蕩蕩卻嗡嗡作響 誰在你心裡放冷槍 舊愛的誓言像極了一個巴掌 每當你記起一句就挨一個耳光 然後好幾年都聞不得 問不得女人香 往事並不如煙 是的 在愛裡念舊也不算美德 可惜戀愛不像寫歌 再認真也成不了風格 我問你見過思念放過誰呢 不管你是累犯或是從無前科 我認識的只有那合久的分了 沒見過分久的合 歲月 你別催 該來的我不推 該還的還該給的我給 歲月 你別催 走遠的我不追 我不過是想弄清原委 誰能告訴我 這是什麼呢 她的愛在心裡 埋葬了 抹平了 幾年了 仍有餘威 是不能原諒卻無法阻擋 愛意在夜裡翻牆 是空空蕩蕩卻嗡嗡作響 誰在你心裡放冷槍 舊愛的誓言像極了一個巴掌 每當你記起一句就挨一個耳光 然後好幾年都聞不得 問不得女人香 然後好幾年都聞不得 問不得女人香 想得卻不可得 你奈人生何 想得卻不可得 情愛裡無智者 類別 音樂 授權 標準 YouTube 授權只顯示部分資訊 935 則留言 排序依據 張國榮 【我】 作詞:林夕 作曲:張國榮 I am what I am 我是 我多麼特別的我 多慶幸 大地有不只一種足印 神造世人 種種色色都有他公允 我很慶幸 站在我屋頂快樂做人 拿著我心 告訴世界何謂勇敢 *我是什麼 在十個當中只得一個 葡萄園裡 響起水仙子的讚歌 我是什麼 是萬世沙礫當中一顆 石頭大這麼多 我也會喜歡這個我 我很慶幸 萬物眾生中磊落做人 懷著誠懇 告訴世界何謂勇敢 Repeat* 感激天生這個我 ---------------------------------------- 我(國語版) 更多更詳盡歌詞 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔鏡歌詞網 作詞:林夕 作曲:張國榮 I am what I am 我永遠都愛這樣的我 快樂是 快樂的方式不只一種 最榮幸是 誰都是造物者的光榮 不用閃躲 為我喜歡的生活而活 不用粉墨 就站在光明的角落 #我就是我 是顏色不一樣的煙火 天空海闊 要做最堅強的泡沫 我喜歡我 讓薔薇開出一種結果 孤獨的沙漠裡 一樣盛放的赤裸裸 多麼高興 在琉璃屋中快樂生活 對世界說 什麼是光明和磊落 Repeat# 陳奕迅 Eason Chan -《你給我聽好》MV 觀看次數:12,546,3774萬918分享universalmusichk發佈日期:2014年5月8日訂閱 (36萬)立即到 iTunes 下載《你給我聽好》: http://smarturl.it/listen-up-single 預購《rice & shine》:http://smarturl.it/rice-and-shine 及到各大數碼平台搶先聽! KKBOX: http://kkbox.fm/bS2T6E Moov:http://moov.hk/moovnow/music/product/... MusicOne: http://www.musicone.com.hk/#album/202... Soliton: http://share.soliton-music.com/share/... Spotify:https://play.spotify.com/track/2s6ZKa... 香港環球唱片官方網頁: http://www.umg.com.hk/ 香港環球唱片Facebook 專頁: https://www.facebook.com/UniversalMus... 香港環球唱片官方Instagram : http://instagram.com/universalmusichk 香港環球唱片騰訊微博 : http://t.qq.com/universalmusichk 香港環球唱片新浪微博 : http://weibo.com/universalmusichk 類別 音樂 授權 標準 YouTube 授權只顯示部分資訊 那曾經是她最愛的一間房間,小小的,只有一個老舊設計的鋁窗,還有一張單人加大的床。 床單是酒紅色的,有時候睡醒之際的朦朧,凌亂的皺褶像極一朵朵血色玫瑰。 她的玫瑰花,獨一無二的玫瑰花。 她小心翼翼地,像是對待甫出生的嬰孩,將它放進保護罩,替它買來屏風,日以繼夜陪伴著。 在人海中,也找不出一段更豔麗的愛情; 在有限的生命中,更沒有第二段青春能如此揮霍。 因此當玫瑰花枯萎, 她無法接受手中失去光澤的,曾被她灌溉滿滿情感的,如今卻如泥濘一般讓人難以忍受了。 她捏碎,讓一切流於毀滅; 她轉身,像是曾來沒有付出過什麼,像是擦去鉛筆的字跡,假裝看不 見白紙上的刻痕。 她終明白, 鮮豔的從來就是投注的美好年華,和每一絲認真,而不是玫瑰花本身。 原來枯萎只是過程,她才是結果。 千刀萬剮 剖開 【血腥愛情故事】 刻骨銘心的情愛小說,你的血、我的肉,都化為手中再也抓不住的靈魂空殼。 故事的一開始,如同一般愛情故事那樣美好…而最後,王子公主過著不再幸福的日子。 阿密特目睹的恐怖小說情節,一場要死要活的【血腥愛情故事】,真實虛幻不斷上演。由Jonnic作曲,Hush作詞,極度激烈充滿張力的歌詞,在歌曲編排上也有如同小說般的起承轉合,而這首歌因為前面很低、後面卻要極度高音,讓阿密特苦笑說:「這首歌的key實在太難訂了!」而在配唱時阿密特也一度苦思,不斷琢磨到底要怎麼唱最能唱出歌曲中由平靜漸進激昂的情緒,也因此最後配唱完也讓阿密特大感痛快! I’m Not Yours Feat. 安室奈美惠NAMIE AMURO 2014亞洲樂壇最驚為天人的震撼組合! 亞洲流行天后蔡依林和東洋歌姬安室奈美惠空前跨國攜手合唱曲「I’m Not Yours」! JOLIN首次與國外作曲團隊合作寫歌,也和傳聞已久要合作的安室奈美惠一同合唱,由知名作詞人黃偉文為兩人合唱曲「I’m Not Yours」操刀,藉由JOLIN與安室的影響力一同宣告『做自己的女孩』的Girl Power! 這首是JOLIN親自創作的心頭肉,加上要與安室合作,求好心切的她除了要顧及音樂還得兼顧與安室合作的畫面,製作過程中不斷與製作人Starr Chen反覆討論修改,堪稱磨功一流音樂總監,讓製作人Starr Chen每交出一次修改新版時都會搞笑地說:「我覺得超好聽喔!」希望音樂總監能拍板過關。 https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLaUiHFyQofr2_iyWAzIwJDtg5n81LH44n