Luyện nghe bài hát Color My World Mine

I met a man who trained himself not to dream
What he seems to have seen was a glimpse of
He's been pictures on canvas since age thirteen
And claims he only exists in the of a higher being
And I enjoy his work; mostly scenic
But each one is focused on an easel where the man himself painting himself
And all that's in his visual
He said was the only way he could make himself real
Ever since he could remember, he had one nightmare
But until about ten years ago, it didn't
It consisted of loud, distorted echoing off the concrete
He ran on top of it in attempt to reach a
Now sometimes, he'd get so close but touch his destination
Which caused him much frustration 'cause he didn't know it meant
And by the end of the dream, he saw the scene a bird's eye
Only to witness his dead laying on the cement

It was only to witness his body laying on the cement
At first it freaked him out, but after a he grew content
So he thought, "It's just a dream," and kept his life
Writing his soul on the canvas 'cause it sheds his planet
And it on and on like space and time, ain't nothing odd
It's not that he didn't believe, he just didn't of God
His was one I couldn't comprehend
I stopped being detective and listened to him as a friend
He

He once saw a painting told his whole life story
It was then that he knew he was the art of
He once saw a that told his whole life story
A brush stroke of the gods him one note in their symphony
He once saw a painting that told his whole story
He spoke for himself and not the rest of
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
And I that I'm not real
God just me

It's I said
ten years ago, the event that changed his whole reality
Took place on his monthly trip to the local art
It was there where he his contemporaries
And there where he nearly carried his sanity to a hole and buried it
It was a very day
The place was empty
And he got chills down his just being present in the scene
On the wall, there was a picture looked familiar
And he got close, his heart stopped
cause he saw it was a of his dream
It was a painting of his
His body on a
By a ladder to an airplane with its propellers
Which for the loud noise
The match up was
And was the day he stopped believing in existing
He his creator
I mean, words explain
What have went on in his brain while he stared into a frame
Of a work of art which he created and was at the same
The mind can't that much, it's just insane
It's reading a book where each words describe your thoughts
And in quotations, it reads whatever you say when you
You think it can't
But it did
I guess there's surprisingly wide cracks in each sidewalk
He upon an answer when he never had a question
And decided to stop to maintain his mental health
Now he talks to people
stays in his basement
Writing infinity, by painting
himself
This is a universe
Is it all a blueprint?
In the real universe, is my consciousness
Are we really something a higher made up?
A figment of imagination colored by a paintbrush?
Maybe all of our art the fate of other beings
Then character in ever novel thinks it's alive and were just gods
blindly
Just a
I don't what it means
But that's the story of the man who himself not to dream

He saw a paining that told his whole life story
He witnessed the paradox of the "existing"
He once saw a painting that told his whole story
He colored his world theirs, and he wasn't living
He once saw a painting that told his life story
The hidden that all that is is art
And when I close my eyes, I see as a story
A God imagined the God imagined me
And I am God
And so on