Luyện nghe bài hát Bags of Dirt

The things change, the more they stay the same
And the it rains, the less I know
Why do foreign skies change the way home?
Why do these hotel walls hang their on my own?

Oh mama, I'm gonna with a truckload of hurt
These have rolled across I don't know how many bags of dirt

Barefoot in the of the van
Tossing an arcing empty can
Long ways, days, waitresses frayed
And underpaid we were and waylaid
We that evening and not a moment too soon
Finding a it was, you may say, cool

Oh mama, I'm gonna roll with a truckload of
These wheels have rolled across I don't how many bags of dirt

These sketches of an infinite
Are ink and conjecture
A dream glimpse of the puppeteer's
A fragment of a fraction of a
And the ghost whispers, I'll set down all I hear
A garbled, shorthand by a marionette in fear

Oh mama, I'm roll with a truckload of hurt
These have rolled across I don't know how many bags of dirt

Oh mama, I'm roll with a truckload of hurt
These wheels have across I don't know how many bags of dirt