选择音轨
标题:Death of a Martian
标签: 总谱
艺人:Red Hot Chili Peppers
专辑:Stadium Arcadium
制谱人:thoun
附注:
Effect of rythm guitar : it seems to be a phaser with speed at max. If you don't have one, you can do something close with a tremolo (rate at max) I'm not sure at all about solo : i've tabbed it with a poor acoustic so harmonics were impossible to try
节拍: Moderate ♩ = 111
和弦:Cm Gm D# D#sus2 A# G# G A#7 Fm6 Fm
注释:Effect on (press F5 for details)Effect offEffect onEffect offEffect onWith strange effectWith strange effectStrange noiseWith strange effectWith strange effectStrange noiseMay be replaced by harmonics
标记:Verse 1Pre-chorus 1Chorus 1Verse 2Pre-chorus 2Chorus 2BridgeEnd
歌词:
Bear paws and rascal power
Watching us in your garage
Big girl you ate the neighbor
The nova is over
Wake up and play
By the radio
Make room for Clara's bare feet
The love of a Martian
Tick tock and waiting for the meteor
This clock is opening another door
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
These are the best that I
I don't know how to say
Losin' what I love today
These are the best that I
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
These are the best that I
I don't know [what] to say
[Look at] what I've lost today
And these are the things that I
Blood flowers in the kitchen
Signing off and winding down
This martain ends her mission
The nova is over
She caught the ball
By the mission bell
Chase lizards bark at donkeys
The love of a martian
Let's bow our head
And let the trumpets blow
Our girl is gone
God bless her little soul
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
These are the best that I
I don't know how to say
Losin' what I love today
These are the best that I
Lots of love just keep it comin'
Making something out of nothin'
These are the best that I
I don't know what to say
[Look at] what I've lost today
And these are the things that I
She's got a sword in case though this is not her lord in case the one who can't afford to face her image is restored to grace. Disappeared. No trace. Musky tears. Suitcase. The down turn brave little burncub bearcareless turnip snare rampages pitch color pages...down and out but not in Vegas. Disembarks and disengages. No loft. Sweet pink canary cages plummet pop dewskin fortitude for the sniffing black noses that snort and allude to the dangling trinkets that mimic the dirt cough go drink its. It's for you. Blue battered naval town slip kisses delivered by duck muscles and bottlenosed grifters arrive in time to catch the late show. It's a beehive barrel race. A shehive stare and chase wasted feature who tried and failed to reach her. Embossed beneath a box in the closet that's lost. The kind that you find when you mind your own business. Shiv sister to the quickness before it blisters into the newmorning milk blanket. Your ilk is funny to the turnstyle touch bunny whose bouquet set a course for bloom without decay. get your broom and sweep echoes of yesternights fallen freckles...AWAY!!!