Luyện nghe bài hát Confessions of the Rich Young Ruler

Feel like a stranger in a strange
Twenty-something and depressed, it isn't what I had planned
stand all the brands and the logos
While the is a no-go—no, the truth
Doesn't sell, not too
Tell me why I'm fetching from the self-help section of hell

(And every bell's like a knell)

for the modern world
Everybody selling something, got to yourself to get the girl
Look at me, at me, here's my C.V.
Are you a Mac or a PC?
So it easy on the Francis of Assisi
Don't really see the point if it please me

Listless at
What if I feel merry? Bit scary to think
I can't 'cause I can't solve the missing link
Spilling ink like I'm on the brink—jump and
Where's God? Are my ears so that the Word's unheard?
Nah, He even wink

Misty from the calling for tissues
Refugees, shootings, and the planet that we misuse
And the news continues into ever-new venues
What's next on the
If I retreat from all your links and tweets, would that offend
really care what you share about the darkness out there if you're blind to the demons within you

Confessions of a blessed who's depressed
Took my heart to God—where's my rest?
trying to be honest like the Psalmist
I'm not the flyest guy, I'm not the
joy, but I'm sadder
You can call me Jacob's ladder 'cause I'm up and down, and frown
Pound for pound, no match for Old Scratch when he's

I thought the couldn't hurt you
Then I took the red pill and I read Virtue
mean to be a grump, dumping words, in a slump
Modern thought got more than the hair on Donald Trump
And the women and go
Michelangelo
But they mean the ninja turtle, and I don't
I just don't

Excuse my muse storylines
Eternal sunshine of the plotless whine—hope you mind
My and fury not as purely stirring as the Bard's
But angst is soarin' high as Kierkegaard's
to feel I had a trail, now I bushwhack
How can I wrestle God if He doesn't back?

Feel like a in a strange land
Twenty-something and depressed, guess it isn't what I had
Can't stand all the brands and the
the Logos is a no-go—no, the truth
Doesn't sell, not too
Tell me why I'm fetching books from the self-help of hell

(And every bell's a death knell)