Luyện nghe bài hát Burning Season

I'm sick of the sight of some kid
Cutting a swathe through the age of
Picking at the sores of the beast
And all the prizes for imagination
I don't know what got to lose
But I see the statues beginning to
The deisel's turning, the moon is

Ch: What the are we waiting for?
I see the smoke on the horizon
I smell the of the burning season
the hell are we waiting for?

I'm of the ironies piled up high
In this sneery culture with its smile
I'm sick of the from the Church of Unbelief
All fat, and anaesthetised
The emperor's out riding again
I can't believe still playing this tired old game
get out there and cut him down

Ch: What the hell are we for? . .

On a smoky sunset, I'm sitting at the wheel
As the crawls by on the ten-lane
Bumper to bumper, nowhere to into the next millenium
I see you drowning in a sea of
Let's go back and get the ones who put you down
The highway's jammed up disinformation
And the anaesthetic are selling by the million

Ch: What the are we waiting here for? . .