你怎么连话都说不清楚
周杰伦版本的：你怎么连话都说不清楚
当前浏览器不支持播放音乐或语音，请在微信或其他浏览器中播放 你怎么连话都说不清楚 周杰伦 – The One演唱会 –> 蔡依林版本的：你怎么连话都说不清楚
当前浏览器不支持播放音乐或语音，请在微信或其他浏览器中播放 你怎么连话都说不清楚 蔡依林 – Myself世界巡回演唱会 台北安可场 –> PEACEFUL TIME沉静岁月，淡忘流年
《你怎么连话都说不清楚》发行于2001年，分Jay和Jolin两个演唱版本（两个版本的歌词附在文末），当年的JJ恋无疾而终，更多的是粉丝的一厢情愿。而这首《你怎么连话都说不清楚》就像是两个人隔空喊话，通过差不多的调调，差不多的歌词，传递最后的情愫。
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你怎么连话都说不清楚 蔡依林版本的歌词
1 2 3，I’m another有谁愿意，当这一个 多出来的Trouble maker，But look that’s my love seal my lipsDon’t let it drop offTry let go不想多想，Where we’ll go话说到这里放手，不要你难过想别的，可是在你眼中察觉什么一闪而过怎么像是寂寞 于是我会更沉默，没说的全世界差点都弄懂了那是什么，而我尴尬笑着走开只能够装做不懂，怎么能拆穿你的不同Oh，偏偏 这地球这么挤这么小这么瘦太阳刻意晒得那么凶，为什么你出现在他出现以后你怎么连话都说不清楚，那温柔的Tone，我听得清楚我站在他的身边，你站在我的面前怎么这样心里会难过，你怎么连话都说不清楚那温柔的痛我记得清楚，他站在我的面前你经过我的身边，忽然之间心里又难过 为什么没说的，全世界差点都弄懂了那是什么而我尴尬笑着走开，只能够装做不懂怎么能拆穿你的不同，这地球这么小这么挤这么瘦太阳刻意晒得那么凶，为什么你出现在他出现以后你怎么连话都说不清楚，那温柔的Tone，我听得清楚我站在他的身边，你站在我的面前怎么这样心里会难过，你怎么连话都说不清楚那温柔的痛我记得清楚，他站在我的面前你经过我的身边，忽然之间心里又难过 为什么你怎么连话都说不清楚，那温柔的Tone，我听得清楚我站在他的身边，你站在我的面前怎么这样心里会难过，你怎么连话都说不清楚那温柔的痛我记得清楚，他站在我的面前你经过我的身边，忽然之间心里又难过 为什么你怎么连话都说不清楚，那温柔的Tone，我听得清楚我站在他的身边，你站在我的面前怎么这样心里会难过，你怎么连话都说不清楚那温柔的痛我记得清楚，他站在我的面前你经过我的身边，忽然之间心里又难过你怎么连话都说不清楚，那温柔的Tone，我听得清楚我站在他的身边，你站在我的面前
你怎么连话都说不清楚 周杰伦版本的歌词
想别的
可是在你眼中察觉什么 一闪而过
像是 像是寂寞
于是我会更沉默
没说的
可是在你眼中察觉闪逝一样过
而我尴尬笑着走开
于是我装做不懂
怎么能拆穿你的不同
偏偏 这地球这么挤这么小这么瘦
太阳刻意晒得那么凶
忘记多远像在他消失离开以后
你怎么连话都说不清楚
那温柔的 tone 我听得清楚
他站在我的身边
你站在我的面前
怎么这样心里会难过
你怎么连话都说不清楚
那温柔的痛我记得清楚
你站在我的身边
他经过我的面前
怎么这样心里会难过
为什么
想别的
可是也不能察觉什么 一闪而过
于是我像是寂寞
于是我会更沉默
没说的
可是在你眼中察觉什么 一闪而过
好像 像是寂寞
怎么能拆穿不同
怎么能拆穿你的不同
偏偏 这地球这么挤这么小这么瘦
太阳刻意晒得那么凶
为什么你出现在他出现以后
你怎么连话都说不清楚
那温柔的 tone 我听得清楚
我站在他的身边
你站在我的面前
怎么这样心里会难过
你怎么连话都说不清楚
那温柔的痛我记得清楚
他站在我的面前
你经过我的身边
忽然之间心里又难过
为什么
记录当时天空
为什么你却又记得清楚
你站在我的面前
他站在我的身边
忽然之间心里又难过
为什么
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END
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They turned to see a man’s figure on the cliff-top at the Gap. He wasstanding in an attitude of intense eagerness, watching them. As they turnedtowards him he did a swift right-about and disappeared.”A bit early for strollers,” the sergeant said. “And what’she running away for? We’d better have a talk with him.”But before he and the constable had moved more than a pace or two itbecame evident that the man, far from running away, had been merely making forthe entrance to the Gap. His thin dark figure shot now from the mouth of theGap and came towards them at a shambling run, slipping and stumbling, andgiving the little group watching his advent an impression of craziness. Theycould hear the breath panting through his open mouth as he drew near, althoughthe distance from the Gap was not long and he was young.He stumbled into their compact circle without looking at them, pushingaside the two policemen who had unconsciously interposed their bulk between himand the body.”Oh, yes, it is! Oh, it is, it is!” he cried, and withoutwarning sat down and burst into loud tears.Six flabbergasted men watched him in silence for a moment. Then thesergeant patted him kindly on the back and said, idiotically, “It’s allright, son!”But the young man only rocked himself to and fro and wept the more.”Come on, come on,” rallied the constable, coaxing. (Really, adreadful exhibition on a nice bright morning.) “That won’t do anyone anygood, you know. Best pull yourself together–sir,” he added, noting thequality of the handkerchief which the young man had produced.”A relation of yours?” the sergeant inquired, his voice suitablymodulated from its former businesslike pitch.The young man shook his head.”Oh, just a friend?””She was so good to me, so good!””Well, at least you’ll be able to help us. We were beginning towonder about her. You can tell us who she is.””She’s my–hostess.””Yes, but I meant, what is her name?””I don’t know.””You–don’t–know! Look here, sir, pull yourself together. You’re theonly one that can help us. You must know the name of the lady you were stayingwith.””No, no; I don’t.””What did you call her, then?””Chris.””Chris, what?””Just Chris.””And what did she call you?””Robin.””Is that your name?””Yes, my name’s Robert Stannaway. No, Tisdall. It used to beStannaway,” he added, catching the sergeant’s eye and feeling apparentlythat explanation was needed.What the sergeant’s eye said was, “God give me patience!” Whathis tongue said was, “It all sounds a bit strange to me, Mr.–er–“”Tisdall.””Tisdall. Can you tell me how the lady got here this morning?””Oh, yes. By car.””By car, eh? Know what became of the car?””Yes. I stole it.””You what?””I stole it. I’ve just brought it back. It was a swinish thing to do.I felt a cad so I came back. When I found she wasn’t anywhere on the road, Ithought I’d find her stamping about here. Then I saw you all standing roundsomething–oh, dear, oh dear!” He began to rock himself again.”Where were you staying with this lady?” asked the sergeant, inexceedingly businesslike tones. “In Westover?””Oh, no. She has–had, I mean–oh dear!–a cottage. Briars, it’scalled. Just outside Medley.””‘Bout a mile and a half inland,” supplemented Potticary, as thesergeant, who was not a native, looked a question.”Were you alone, or is there a staff there?””There’s just a woman from the village–Mrs. Pitts–who comes in andcooks.””I see.”There was a slight pause.”All right, boys.” The sergeant nodded to the ambulance men, andthey bent to their work with the stretcher. The young man drew in his breathsharply and once more covered his face with his hands.”To the mortuary, Sergeant?””Yes.”The man’s hands came away from his face abruptly.”Oh, no! Surely not! She had a home. Don’t they take peoplehome?””We can’t take the body of an unknown woman to an uninhabitedbungalow.””It isn’t a bungalow,” the man automatically corrected.”No. No, I suppose not. But it seems dreadful–the mortuary. Oh, God inheaven above!” he burst out, “why did this have to happen!””Davis,” the sergeant said to the constable, “you go backwith the others and report. I’m going over to–what is it?–Briars? with Mr.Tisdall.”The two ambulance men crunched their heavy way over the pebbles, followedby Potticary and Bill. The noise of their progress had become distant beforethe sergeant spoke again.”I suppose it didn’t occur to you to go swimming with yourhostess?”A spasm of something like embarrassment ran across Tisdall’s face. Hehesitated.”No. I–not much in my line, I’m afraid: swimming before breakfast.I–I’ve always been a rabbit at games and things like that.”The sergeant nodded, noncommittal. “When did she leave for aswim?””I don’t know. She told me last night that she was going to the Gapfor a swim if she woke early. I woke early myself, but she was gone.””I see. Well, Mr. Tisdall, if you’ve recovered I think we’ll begetting along.””Yes. Yes, certainly. I’m all right.” He got to his feet andtogether and in silence they traversed the beach, climbed the steps at the Gap,and came on the car where Tisdall said he had left it: in the shade of thetrees where the track ended. It was a beautiful car, if a little too opulent. Acream-coloured two-seater with a space between the seats and the hood forparcels, or, at a pinch, for an extra passenger. From this space, the sergeant,exploring, produced a woman’s coat and a pair of the sheepskin boots popularwith women at winter race-meetings.”That’s what she wore to go down to the beach. Just the coat andboots over her bathing things. There’s a towel, too.”There was. The sergeant produced it: a brilliant object in green andorange.”Funny she didn’t take it to the beach with her,” he said.”She liked to dry herself in the sun usually.””You seem to know a lot about the habits of a lady whose name youdidn’t know.” The sergeant inserted himself into the second seat.”How long have you been living with her?””Staying with her,” amended Tisdall, his voice for the firsttime showing an edge. “Get this straight, Sergeant, and it may save you alot of bother: Chris was my hostess. Not anything else. We stayed in hercottage unchaperoned, but a regiment of servants couldn’t have made ourrelations more correct. Does that strike you as so very peculiar?””Very,” said the sergeant frankly. “What are these doinghere?”He was peering into a paper bag which held two rather jaded buns.”Oh, I took these along for her to eat. They were all I could find.We always had a bun when we came out of the water when we were kids. I thoughtmaybe she’d be glad of something.”The car was slipping down the steep track to the main Westover-Stonegateroad. They crossed the high-road and entered a deep lane on the other side. Asignpost said “Medley 1, Liddlestone 3.””So you had no intention of stealing the car when you set off tofollow her to the beach?””Certainly not!” Tisdall said, as indignantly as if it made adifference. “It didn’t even cross my mind till I came up the hill and sawthe car waiting there. Even now I can’t believe I really did it. I’ve been afool, but I’ve never done anything like that before.””Was she in the sea then?””I don’t know. I didn’t go to look. If I had seen her even in thedistance I couldn’t have done it. I just slung the buns in and beat it. When Icame to I was halfway to Canterbury. I just turned her round without stopping,and came straight back.”The sergeant made no comment.”You still haven’t told me how long you’ve been staying at thecottage?””Since Saturday midnight.”It was now Thursday.”And you still ask me to believe that you don’t know your hostess’slast name?””No. It’s a bit queer, I know. I thought so, myself, at first. I hada conventional upbringing. But she made it seem natural. After the first day wesimply accepted each other. It was as if I had known her for years.” Asthe sergeant said nothing, but sat radiating doubt as a stove radiates heat, headded with a hint of temper, “Why shouldn’t I tell you her name if I knewit!””How should I know?” said the sergeant, unhelpfully. Heconsidered out of the corner of his eye the young man’s pale, if composed,face. He seemed to have recovered remarkably quickly from his exhibition ofnerves and grief. Light-weights, these moderns. No real emotion about anything.Just hysteria. What they called love was just a barn-yard exercise; theythought anything else “sentimental.” No discipline. No putting upwith things. Every time something got difficult, they ran away. Not slappedenough in their youth. All this modern idea about giving children their ownway. Look what it led to. Howling on the beach one minute and as cool as acucumber the next.And then the sergeant noticed the trembling of the too fine hands on thewheel. No, whatever else Robert Tisdall was he wasn’t cool.”This is the place?” the sergeant asked, as they slowed down bya hedged garden.”This is the place.”
