过路面,飞舞起一些轻浮碎片,路面湿漉漉的,看上去有冷冷的寒意。我远远望去,我的视线似乎只能延伸到路的尽头。我又向上看去,掠过隐暗在夜晚里重重叠叠的屋顶,向上看去。那夜色,凉如水,浓如墨。
那里,是东方。幻想中,如果我的目光能穿透那黑暗,那,我是否会看到家乡熟悉的冬日的清晨。油条,豆浆,煎饼果子,在一片片白雾里,我挎着书包,骑着自行车穿行过小巷,耳边是遛早人的问候,小贩的吆喝,我身后,是母亲的目光;而街的尽头,修长熟悉的身影,那张年轻英俊的面孔,甜蜜的笑容向我绽放。
一首歌,似乎在耳边响起,她是这样唱得:
So tired of the straight line
and everywhere you turn
there's vultures and thieves at your back
and the storm keeps on twisting
you keep on building the lie
that you make up for all that you lack
it don't make no difference
escaping one last time
it's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
In the arms of an angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you fear
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you’re in the arms of the angel
may you find some fort here。
In the arms of an angel
may you find some fort here
我就这样站在窗边,
本章未完,请点击下一页继续阅读! 第4页 / 共7页