I Am - Ben Everson

قولوا لعمري يا وقلبي ما ينساكشي من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي قولوا لعمري الكبدة اتقطعت بين زوج من Oran ل Marseille دلّالي من Oran ل Marseille دلّالي قولوا لعمري يا وقلبي ما ينساكشي من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي قولوا لعمري ترقد وطفي الضو من وهران ل Marseille دلالي من وهران ل Marseille دلالي Les vagues s'écrasent sur les roches, fauchent, façades moches Vie de cloche poche, vie de pez fastoche Mais la poisse accroche ma face de métèque Je viens du bled, pleins de verbes dans les bagages Ca je tiens ma rage dans ma gorge La plage déserte me pousse au cafard Tu traînes dans les bars tard le soir Où les soûlards se filent au rasoir Spliff noir dans le cendar Je sombre dans le mégotrip égoïste Jette mes tripes dans la musique Mars, ma ville, un plateau Où le désert avance, un gâteau partagé à 10 Mes khos pendus à un lasso Nourri au gaz de ville, à la lumière orange Comme elle, je dérange, étranger aux pensées etrangers حتى نقول نبطل وترضى لي علي من وهران ل Marseille دلالي من وهران ل Marseille دلالي Tellement نبغيها يا نبدا نجيبها من وهران ل Marseille دلالي من Oran ل Marseille دلالي Des odeurs de couscous, de tajine, de pruneau De mafé, yassa, poisson frais Pâtes carbo les épices me collent à la peau Assise là, les pieds dans l'eau sous l'œil du tréo Ma ville s'éveille chaque matin quand les fourmis s'en vont au boulot Fragile, emporte ta faux, situation où tout le monde se marre L'économica autre comme une vieille bécane Pluries Ethnie cohabitation naturelle Les cultures, les mœurs, les couleurs dansent comme dans une aquarelle Seul le Serval dévoile la face B de la carte postale Atone cache les nuages, un cercueil passe, mauvais présage L'ennui vainqueur, sueur, peur devant les seringues de l'horreur Le noir château entré sans un mot Mars aspire au renouveau خلّوا البحَر ياكُلني ولّا زعافها من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي خلّوا البحَر ياكُلني ولّا زعافهم من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي يانا بغيت لقليبي المحنة الفاكرة من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي من وهران ل Marseille دلّالي قولوا لعمري ترقد وطفي الضو من وهران ل Marseille دلالي من وهران ل Marseille دلالي من وهران ل Marseille دلالي من وهران ل Marseille دلالي

清晨醒来的我 昨夜梦依旧 在熟悉的街道中 寻找你影踪 在世界奔走 我感觉不寂寞 有一个人 熟悉又遥远 抓不住的思念 Repeat 夕阳紫色天空中 你我承诺过 众多掌声的背后 你给我最多 一起走过 每一个低潮和失落 现在的我 站在舞台 挥洒自我 I am who I am 看着你的眼 眼神的交接 不需语言 穿透我心田 I am who I am 想念你的眼 温柔却坚决 这一刻最美 我失去防线 I am who I am 看着你的眼 眼神的交接 不需语言 穿透我心田 I am who I am 想念你的眼 温柔却坚决 这一刻最美 我失去防线 清晨醒来的我 昨夜梦依旧 在熟悉的街道中 寻找你影踪

I was the thorn; I was the crown. I caused the bitter pain and blood spilled on the ground When You were hung upon the tree, And You were bound in agony. I was the thorn. I was the crown. But you looked down And saw my need When I deserved to die this death, You intercede. Your matchless Gift upon the tree Has burst my chains – now I am free! For you looked down And saw my need. You are my Lord! You are my Crown! You pulled me from the pit and set me on the ground. I once was lost, but now am found! In holy joy I now abound. You are my Lord, (and now) You are my Crown. My Crown, My Crown, My Crown.

What manner of man is this Who tires as soon as I? What manner of man is this, this Man that I've seen cry When His friend faced death? But with His next breath, Raised him yet alive? What manner of man is this Whom winds and seas obey? What kind of man is this Who teaches how to pray Like we've never known? "Go before the throne Of the Father on high." He is Jesus, King of creation! He is Jesus, Lord of all nations! Bound up in humanness, needing food and sleep and rest. Fully man, yet wholly God! What manner of man is this? What manner of man is this, Who stands out from the crowd? What kind of man is this before Whom a father bows And with sorrowed voice makes the humble choice To beg his daughter's life? What manner of man is this Who makes a blind man see, And frees an outcast soul from his leprosy? Takes a laughingstock, and then makes him walk, Just like you and me! He is Jesus, King of creation! He is Jesus, Lord of all nations! Bound up in humanness, needing food and sleep and rest. Fully man, yet wholly God! What manner of man is this? What manner of man is this, Who stands in Pilate's hall While screaming crowds insist He die and suffer all! What kind of man is this, suspended 'tween earth and heav'n, In blood and agony, so I could be forgiv'n? What manner of man is this? What manner of God is this?