paroles de chanson Something's On the Move - Jethro Tull
                                                She 
                                                wore 
                                                    a 
                                                black 
                                                tiara
 
                                    
                                
                                                Rare 
                                                gems 
                                                upon 
                                                her 
                                                fingers
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                she 
                                                came 
                                                from 
                                                distant 
                                                waters
 
                                    
                                
                                                Where 
                                                northern 
                                                lights 
                                                explode
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                celebrate 
                                                the 
                                                dawning
 
                                    
                                
                                                Of 
                                                the 
                                                new 
                                                wastes 
                                                of 
                                                winter
 
                                    
                                
                                                Gathering 
                                                royal 
                                                momentum
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                the 
                                                icy 
                                                road.
 
                                    
                                
                                                With 
                                                chill 
                                                mists 
                                                swirling
 
                                    
                                
                                                Like 
                                                petticoats 
                                                in 
                                                motion
 
                                    
                                
                                                Sighted 
                                                on 
                                                horizons
 
                                    
                                
                                                For 
                                                ten 
                                                thousand 
                                                years
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                lady 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                ice 
                                                sounds
 
                                    
                                
                                                    A 
                                                deathly 
                                                distant 
                                                rumble
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                Titanic-breaking 
                                                children 
                                                lost
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                melting 
                                                crystal 
                                                tears.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh, 
                                                sunshine 
                                                --- 
                                                take 
                                                me 
                                                now 
                                                away 
                                                from 
                                                here
 
                                    
                                
                                                I′m 
                                                    a 
                                                needle 
                                                on 
                                                    a 
                                                spiral 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                groove.
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                turntable 
                                                spins
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                the 
                                                last 
                                                waltz 
                                                begins
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                weather-man 
                                                says
 
                                    
                                
                                                Something's 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                move.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Capturing 
                                                black 
                                                pieces
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                    a 
                                                glass-fronted 
                                                museum
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                white 
                                                queen 
                                                rolls
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                the 
                                                chessboard 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                dawn
 
                                    
                                
                                                Squeezing 
                                                through 
                                                the 
                                                valleys
 
                                    
                                
                                                Pausing 
                                                briefly 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                corries
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                Ice-Mother 
                                                mates
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    a 
                                                new 
                                                age 
                                                is 
                                                born.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh, 
                                                sunshine 
                                                --- 
                                                take 
                                                me 
                                                now 
                                                away 
                                                from 
                                                here
 
                                    
                                
                                                I′m 
                                                    a 
                                                needle 
                                                on 
                                                    a 
                                                spiral 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                groove.
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                turntable 
                                                spins
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                the 
                                                last 
                                                waltz 
                                                begins
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                weather-man 
                                                says
 
                                    
                                
                                                Something's 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                move.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Driving 
                                                all 
                                                before 
                                                her
 
                                    
                                
                                                Un-stoppable, 
                                                un-straining
 
                                    
                                
                                                Her 
                                                cold 
                                                creaking 
                                                mass
 
                                    
                                
                                                Follows 
                                                reindeer 
                                                down.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Thin 
                                                spreading 
                                                fingers 
                                                seek
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                embrace 
                                                the 
                                                sill-warm 
                                                bundles
 
                                    
                                
                                                That 
                                                huddle 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                doorsteps
 
                                    
                                
                                                Of 
                                                    a 
                                                white 
                                                London 
                                                Town.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh, 
                                                sunshine 
                                                --- 
                                                take 
                                                me 
                                                now 
                                                away 
                                                from 
                                                here
 
                                    
                                
                                                I'm 
                                                    a 
                                                needle 
                                                on 
                                                    a 
                                                spiral 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                groove.
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                turntable 
                                                spins
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                the 
                                                last 
                                                waltz 
                                                begins
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                weather-man 
                                                says
 
                                    
                                
                                                Something′s 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                move.
 
                                    
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