(20141226周五)
他穿过黑夜，裹挟着冰冷的、叫嚣着的风。
他走进一家灯光昏暗的酒吧，那尽头的圆台上一片小小的光亮，是给他准备的。
他拿起吉他，放在膝头，开始一段前奏。
他机械地弹着，看着眼前的人们簇成一团一团，毫不相关。
面前是一群年轻人，嬉笑着、围着一个卷发的女孩打闹；
角落有个男孩，与他们年纪相仿，却在截然相反的哀愁中，一杯接一杯。
他开始唱，越来越大声，
每一首都要好听过上一首。
他坐在那里唱着歌，想，这就是生活。
每天伴着头痛醒来，醒来就得面对新的一天。
“今天要去哪里？去哪里？今天晚上，该睡在哪里？”
他在凌晨的街道上乱走，四点钟坐上出租车。
他不想在朋友家门前等候，四点前没有人的家。
他呆在那里无事可做，
自言自语地念叨了一边朋友们的名字。
“能去哪里呀？今天晚上，该睡在哪里？”
This is the life
Oh, the wind whistles down,
the cold dark street night.
And people they were dancing to the music vibe,
and boys chase the girls, with the curls in their hair,
while the shy tormented youth sit away over there.
And the songs they get louder, each one better than before.
And you're singing the songs, thinking this is the life,
and you wake up in the morning,
and your head feels twice the size.
"Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go?
Where you gonna sleep tonight?"
So you heading down the road in your taxi for four,
and you're waiting outside Jimmy's front door.
But nobody's in and nobody's home till four.
So you're sitting there with nothing to do,
talking about Robet Riger and his motley crew.
And"where you gonna go? and where you gonna sleep tohinght?"
