Luyện nghe bài hát Creation or a stain

I got a god in my
Tells me I'm crazy
Got a god in my
Telling me I'm
An angry little god on my skull
little god
Tells me that I'm
A useless piece of with no love to give at all now
And the god up there
Thinks that I'm the
Tells me no one else could be as as me.
I to them all, I was a disc jockey to consequences
propagandist selling misery
I build a I got to get away
A shirt made out of wood and glue and crack and then paint(????)
No one see ya there and no one's getting in
I got a needle, a pack, a satchel, and a quart of gin
I drink and shoot and until the only voice I hear
Is the one telling me other people, don't let anybody near
No don't let near (x4)
And now the telephone is ringing, the walls are falling
The city birds are singing, my nowhere around
I made myself a monster
I have damned myself
I have eaten all my children, I have up my skin
I'm a walking crucifixion, I'm a memory
Consumed in all left, I'm my mother's misery
I'm on Satan's tit
She's me her pussy

I drink until I'm convinced no place left to go
You there's no place left to go (x4)
So I drink until the is dry
I know it is
Sometimes though, I guess I think that I'm the
Until the morning after when I wake up the guilt
Of burning down all the things my hands have built
And throwing out all the you know I never felt
Yeah, you I never felt (x4)
make our tortured Romeo's
Personal help can be
You bring it on
out when you might peak
The Holy Ghost is exiled your heart and from your soul
If you control it it's no fun, and if fun you've lost control
Your past is
your symbols dried up
corruption's as confused
As old that you dug
Like some hidden fume
soul dissipates
In the ozone of acts with motive
All the things you
There's dancing, crazed
heat
Crazy in an
The way people eat
Regrets overwhelms, and tired bodies fall
Bankrupt the beaten
Let's one more eight-ball
Blue as beggars, beaten,
Tired eyes of rust
And we all know when it gets like this no one you can trust
No no no one you can trust(x4)
Some say the locked in the sweat-box
I know
I've been there, I sold my keys to get a rock
We sing to forgotten AM radio stations
And drink expensive wine, toast the friends we left hanging
prisoners in conceit
We through the cracks
I know for don't trust no one who says' they've got you back
The all explode
the noise pollution booms
Everyone's now hidden cockroaches in dark rooms
I've been back from the dead before, so anything can happen
Obsessed with tragic antics, down and out Eric Clapton
are my wild years, I'm trying to enjoy the pain
The euphoria of
Toxins in my brain
all been leaders of corruption
We've all been on the wall
Waiting for a hand to smash us or the doom of light to
Is this of just self-hatred
Runnin' wild,
Leaking from a broken
Is creation or a stain
Is this or a stain...