ใ‚นใƒใƒณใ‚ตใƒผใƒชใƒณใ‚ฏ

ๆญŒ่ฉžๅ’Œ่จณ The Jam – Town Called Malice

1980s

1982ๅนด็™บ่กจใ€่‹ฑ1ไฝใ‚’่จ˜้Œฒใ—ใŸใƒ’ใƒƒใƒˆใ‚ทใƒณใ‚ฐใƒซใ€‚็ฌฌ6ไฝœใซใ—ใฆๆœ€ๅพŒใฎใ‚ขใƒซใƒใƒ  The Gift ๆ‰€ๅŽใ€‚

Town Called Malice

(Paul Weller)

Better stop dreaming of the quiet life
‘Cause it’s the one we’ll never know
And quit running for that runaway bus
‘Cause those rosy days are few
And stop apologising for the things you’ve never done
‘Cause time is short and life is cruel
But it’s up to us to change
This town called Malice
้™ใ‹ใชๆšฎใ‚‰ใ—ใ‚’ๅคข่ฆ‹ใ‚‹ใฎใชใ‚“ใฆใ‚„ใ‚ใŸๆ–นใŒใ„ใ„
ใใ‚“ใชใฎ็Ÿฅใ‚Šใ‚ˆใ†ใฎใชใ„ใ‚‚ใฎใ ใ‹ใ‚‰
ใ‚ใ‚“ใช้ง†ใ‘่ฝใกใฎใƒใ‚นใ‚’่ฟฝใ„ๆฑ‚ใ‚ใ‚‹ใฎใ‚‚ใ‚„ใ‚ใช
ใƒใƒฉ่‰ฒใฎๆ—ฅใ€…ใชใ‚“ใฆใ‚ใฃใŸใซใ‚ใ‚‹ใ‚‚ใ‚“ใ˜ใ‚ƒใชใ„
ใใ‚Œใ‹ใ‚‰ใ‚„ใฃใฆใ‚‚ใชใ„ไบ‹ใ‚’่ฌใ‚‹ใฎใ‚‚ใ‚„ใ‚ใชใ•ใ„
ๆ™‚้–“ใฏ็Ÿญใไบบ็”Ÿใฏๆฎ‹้…ทใชใ‚“ใ ใ‹ใ‚‰
ใ ใ‘ใฉใ“ใฎๆ‚ชๆ„ใจใ„ใ†ๅใฎ่ก—ใ‚’ๅค‰ใˆใ‚‹ใฎใ‚‚
ไฟบ้”ๆฌก็ฌฌใชใ‚“ใ ใ‚ˆ

Rows and rows of disused milk floats
Stand dying in the dairy yard
And a hundred lonely housewives
Clutch empty milk bottles to their hearts
Hanging out their old love letters on the line to dry
It’s enough to make you stop believing
When tears come fast and furious
In a town called Malice
ใ‚‚ใ†ไฝฟใ‚ใ‚ŒใชใใชใฃใŸ็‰›ไนณ้…้”ใฎ่ปŠใŒไฝ•ๅˆ—ใ‚‚
้…ช่พฒๅ ดใฎไธญใงๆญปใ‚“ใ ๆง˜ใซไธฆใ‚“ใงใ„ใ‚‹
็™พไบบใ‚‚ใฎๅญค็‹ฌใชไธปๅฉฆใŒ
ๆ˜”ใฎใƒฉใƒ–ใƒฌใ‚ฟใƒผใ‚’ๅค–ใซไธฆในใฆๅŠใ‚‹ใ—ใฆไนพใ‹ใ—
่ƒธใซใฏ็ฉบใฎ็‰›ไนณ็“ถใ‚’ๆŠฑใใ‹ใ‹ใˆใฆใ„ใ‚‹
ไฟกใ˜ใ‚‹ไบ‹ใ‚’ใ‚„ใ‚ใ•ใ›ใ‚‹ใซใฏใ“ใ‚Œใงๅ……ๅˆ†
ๆ‚ชๆ„ใจใ„ใ†ๅใฎ่ก—ใซใ„ใฆ
ๆถ™ใŒใฉใฃใจๆตใ‚Œใ‚Œใฐ

Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-la-ba, ba-ba-ba-la-ba
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-la-ba, ba-ba-ba-la-ba

Struggle after struggle, year after year
The atmosphere’s a fine blend of ice
I’m almost stone cold dead
In a town called Malice
ใ‚‚ใŒใ„ใฆใ‚‚ใŒใ„ใฆไฝ•ๅนดใ‚‚ใฎ้–“
็ฉบๆฐ—ใฏๆฐทใ‚’ๆททใœๅˆใ‚ใ›ใŸๆง˜
ไฟบใ‚‚ใปใจใ‚“ใฉ็ŸณใฟใŸใ„ใซๅ†ทใŸใๆญปใ‚“ใ ๆง˜
ๆ‚ชๆ„ใจๅ‘ผใฐใ‚Œใ‚‹่ก—ใฎไธญ

A whole street’s belief in Sunday’s roast beef
Gets dashed against the Co-op
To either cut down on beer or the kids’ new gear
It’s a big decision
In a town called Malice
่ก—ไธญใฎใ‚ตใƒณใƒ‡ใƒผใƒญใƒผใ‚นใƒˆใธใฎไฟก้ ผใ‚‚
็”Ÿๅ”ใฎๅ‰ใซๆ‰“ใก็ •ใ‹ใ‚Œ
ใƒ“ใƒผใƒซใจๅญไพ›ใฎๆ–ฐใ—ใ„ๆœใฎใฉใกใ‚‰ใ‚’
ๅˆ‡ใ‚Š่ฉฐใ‚ใ‚‹ใ‹ใŒๅคงใใชๆฑบๆ–ญ
ๆ‚ชๆ„ใจๅ‘ผใฐใ‚Œใ‚‹่ก—ใงใฏ

The ghost of a steam train echoes down my track
It’s at the moment bound for nowhere
Just going round and round
Playground kids and creaking swings
Lost laughter in the breeze
I could go on for hours and I probably will
But I’d sooner put some joy back
In this town called Malice
In this town called Malice
In this town called Malice
่’ธๆฐ—ๆฉŸ้–ข่ปŠใฎไบก้œŠใฎ้ŸณใŒไฟบใฎ่กŒใๆ‰‹ใซ้Ÿฟใๆธกใ‚‹
ใใ‚Œใฏใฉใ“ใธๅ‘ใ‹ใ†ใจใ‚‚็Ÿฅใ‚Œใฌๆ™‚
ใŸใ ใใ‚‹ใใ‚‹ใจๅ›žใฃใฆใ„ใ‚‹
้Šใณๅ ดใฎๅญไพ›ใซใใ—ใ‚€ใƒ–ใƒฉใƒณใ‚ณ
ใใ‚ˆ้ขจใซๆถˆใˆใŸ็ฌ‘ใ„
ไฟบใชใ‚‰ไฝ•ๆ™‚้–“ใ‚‚ใ„ใ‚‰ใ‚Œใใ†ใงๅคšๅˆ†ใใ†ใ™ใ‚‹ใ‘ใฉ
ใ˜ใใซๅ–œใณใฎ็จฎใ‚’ๆคใˆไป˜ใ‘ใฆใ‚„ใ‚‹ใ ใ‚ใ†
ใ“ใฎๆ‚ชๆ„ใจใ„ใ†ๅใฎ่ก—ใซ

ใƒใƒผใƒซใ‚ฆใ‚งใƒฉใƒผใธใฎๆ„›ใ‚’่ชžใ‚ŠใชใŒใ‚‰ใƒกใƒใƒฃใ‚ฏใƒใƒฃใชๅฏพ่จณใ‚’่ผ‰ใ›ใฆใ‚‹ใ‚ตใ‚คใƒˆใ‚’่ฆ‹ใฆใ—ใพใฃใฆใ“ใฎไธ–ใฏใฉใ†ใชใฃใฆใ‚“ใ ใจๆ€ใฃใŸใ‘ใฉใƒ‡ใ‚ฟใƒฉใƒกใŒๅนณๆฐ—ใช้ก”ใงใพใ‹ใ‚Š้€šใ‚‹ใ“ใฎไธ–ใฎไธญใ ใ‹ใ‚‰ใพใ‚ใ‚ทใƒงใ‚ฆใ‚ฌ็„กใ„ใ‹ There’s no ginger. You can do nothing about it. ใชใ‚“ใฆๆ„Ÿใ˜ใ‚‹ๆญณๆšฎใ‹ใชใ€‚I bear you no malice.

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