TAEYANG - EYES,NOSE,LIPS

EYES,NOSE,LIPS

RISE

TAE YANG

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不要说对不起对不起

Mi-a-nhae mi-a-nhaeha-ji-ma

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只会让我更落魄

Nae-ga cho-rahae-jija-nha

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用你好看的红色嘴唇

Ppal-gan yep-peun ip-sul-lo

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来杀了我再走吧

Eo-seo na-reul ju-gi-go ga~

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我没关系的

Na-neun gwaen-chanha~

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最后看我一眼吧

Ma-ji-ma-geu-ro-na~ reul-ba-rabwa-jwo~ ??????????

没有事一样的笑吧

A-mu-reo-chi-a nheun-deut u-seo-jwo

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让我想你的时候

Ne-ga~ bo-go-si-peul-ttae

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让我能记得

Gieo-khal su-it-ge

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能让我在脑海里画出你的样子

Na-ui meo-ris-so-ge ne-eol-gulgeu-ril~ su-it-ge ???????????

无法放你走的我的贪心

Neol-bo-nael-su-eom-neun na-ui yok-si~mi~

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变成偏执囚禁你

Jip-cha-gi-doe-eo~ neol~ ga-dwot-go

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是不是因为这样的我累了

Hok-si-i~ reon-na ttae-me him-deu-reon~ni~

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没有任何回答的你

A-mu-dae~dap~ eom~neun~ neo~

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为什么像傻子一样

Ba-bo-cheo-reom~ wae~

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无法抹去你

Neo-reul ji-u-ji mo-tae~~

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你已经离开了

Neon tteo-na-beo-ryeon-neun-de~~ en~

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你的眼鼻嘴

Neo-ui~ nun~ ko~ ip~

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曾抚摸我的你的手

Nal-man-ji deon-ne-son~gil~

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连小小的手指甲都

Ja-geunson-top-kka-ji da~~~

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尽管依然能够感受到你

Yeo-jeon-hi-neol~ neu-kkil su-it-ji-man

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像结束了的烟火一样

Kkeo-jin-bul~kkoc~ cheo-reom-

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燃尽的

Ta-deureo-ga-beo~ rin~

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我们的爱情全部

U-ri~ sa-rang-mo-du da~~~

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虽然很痛但如今你称之为回忆吧

Neo-mu a-peu-ji-man i-jen-neol~ chu-eo-gi-ra-bu-reul~ge~~

(chu-eo-gi-ra-bu-reul~ge~~)

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爱你虽然爱你

Sa-rang-hae sa-rang-haetji~man~

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可能我还不够吧

Nae~ga~ bu-jo~ khaesseon-na bwa~

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或许即使偶然间

Hok-si u-yeo-ni-ra-do

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仅仅是一瞬间

Han-sun-gan-mani-ra-do neol~

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能见你吗

Bol su i-sseul~kka~

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一天一天越来越不安

Ha-ru-ha~ ru-ga bu-ran-hae-jyeo~

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关于你的所有都开始模糊

Ne-mo-deun-ge galsu-rok hui-mi-hae-jyeo~

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照片里的你

Sa~jin~ so-ge-neo-neun wae~

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为什么笑得那么灿烂

Hae-mark-ge u-tneun-de~

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连走向我们的离别都没有察觉

U-ri-e-ge da-ga-o-neun-i~ byeo~reul~mo~reun-chae~

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无法放你走的我的贪心

Neol bo-nael-su-eomneun na-ui yok-si-mi~

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变成偏执囚禁你

Jip-cha-gi doe-eo neol~ ga-dwot-go~

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是不是因为这样的我累了

Hok-si-i~ reon-na ttae-me him-deu-reon-ni~

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没有任何回答的你

A-mu-dae~dap~ eom~neun~ neo~

?????

为什么像傻子一样

Ba-bocheo-reom wae~

(Ba-bo cheo-reom wae~)

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无法抹去你

Neo-reul ji-u-ji mo-tae~

(Neo-reul ji-u-ji mo-tae~)

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你已经离开了

Neon tteo-nabeor-yeon-neunde~~he~i~yeah~~

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你的眼鼻嘴

Neo-ui~ nun~ ko~ ip-

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曾抚摸我的你的手

Nal man-ji deon-ne-son~gil~

???????

连小小的手指甲都

Ja-geun-son-topkka-ji-da~~~

??????????

尽管依然能够感受到你

Yeo-jeon-hi neol~ neu-kkil su-it-ji-man~

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像结束了的烟火一样

Kkeo-jin bul~ kkoc~cheo-reom-

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燃尽的

Ta-deu-reo-ga-beo~rin~

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我们的爱情全部

U-ri sa-rang-mo-du da~~~

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虽然很痛但如今你称之为回忆吧

Neo-mu a-peu-ji-man i-jen-neol~ chu-eo-gi ra-bu-reul~ge~

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只望着我的你的黑色眼睛

Na-neul-ba-rabo-deon neo-ui kka-man-nun~

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带着迷人香气的你的鼻子

Hyang-giroun~ su-meul da-meun-neo-ui ko~

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我爱你我爱你向我诉说的那个嘴唇我

Sa-rang-hae~ sa-rang-hae~~ nae-ge sok-sa-gi-deon geu-ip-su-reul~ nan~

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你的眼鼻嘴

Neo-ui~ nun~ ko~ ip-

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曾抚摸我的你的手

Nal~ man-ji-deon-ne son~ gil~

???????

连小小的手指甲都

Ja-geun son-top-kka-ji da~~~ (meo-to-da~)

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尽管依然能够感受到你

Yeo-jeon-hi-neol~ neu-kkil su-it-ji-man~

(neol~ neu-kkil su-it-ji-man~)

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像结束了的烟火一样

Kkeo-jin bul~ kkoc~ cheo-reom-

??????

燃尽的

Ta-deureo-ga-beo~ rin~

???????

我们的爱情全部

U-ri~ sa-rang-mo-du da~~~

????????????????

虽然很痛但如今你称之为回忆吧

Neo-mu a-peu-ji-man i-jen-neol~ chu-eo-gi ra-bu-reul~ ge~

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Unit 7 The Monster Deems Taylor 1He was an undersized little man, with a head too big for his body ― a sickly little man. His nerves were bad. He had skin trouble. It was agony for him to wear anything next to his skin coarser than silk. And he had delusions of grandeur. 2He was a monster of conceit. Never for one minute did he look at the world or at people, except in relation to himself. He believed himself to be one of the greatest dramatists in the world, one of the greatest thinkers, and one of the greatest composers. To hear him talk, he was Shakespeare, and Beethoven, and Plato, rolled into one. He was one of the most exhausting conversationalists that ever lived. Sometimes he was brilliant; sometimes he was maddeningly tiresome. But whether he was being brilliant or dull, he had one sole topic of conversation: himself. What he thought and what he did. 3He had a mania for being in the right. The slightest hint of disagreement, from anyone, on the most trivial point, was enough to set him off on a harangue that might last for hours, in which he proved himself right in so many ways, and with such exhausting volubility, that in the end his hearer, stunned and deafened, would agree with him, for the sake of peace. 4It never occurred to him that he and his doing were not of the most intense and fascinating interest to anyone with whom he came in contact. He had theories about almost any subject under the sun, including vegetarianism, the drama, politics, and music; and in support of these theories he wrote pamphlets, letters, books ... thousands upon thousands of words, hundreds and hundreds of pages. He not only wrote these things, and published them ― usually at somebody else’s expense ― but he would sit and read them aloud, for hours, to his friends, and his family. 5He had the emotional stability of a six-year-old child. When he felt out of sorts, he would rave and stamp, or sink into suicidal gloom and talk darkly of going to the East to end his days as a Buddhist monk. Ten minutes later, when something pleased him he would rush out of doors and run around the garden, or jump up and down off the sofa, or stand on his head. He could be grief-stricken over the death of a pet dog, and could be callous and heartless to a degree that would have made a Roman emperor shudder. 6He was almost innocent of any sense of responsibility. He was convinced that

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