Luyện nghe bài hát Bags of Dirt

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

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

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

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

These sketches of an infinite
Are ink and unconfirmed
A dream of the puppeteer's knuckle
A of a fraction of a gesture
And when the ghost whispers, I'll set all I hear
A garbled, shorthand by a marionette in fear

Oh mama, I'm roll with a truckload of hurt
These wheels have rolled across I 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