Luyện nghe bài hát Creation or a stain

I got a god in my
Tells me that I'm
Got a god in my
me I'm crazy
An angry little god punching on my
little god
Tells me I'm lazy
A useless piece of shit no love to give at all now
And the smallest god up
that I'm the greatest
Tells me no one else could be as as me.
I listen to them all, I was a jockey to consequences
Little selling misery
I build a I got to get away
A shirt made out of wood and glue and and then some paint(????)
No one see ya down there and no getting in
I got a needle, a pack, a satchel, and a quart of gin
I drink and shoot and smoke the only voice I hear
Is the one telling me those other people, let anybody near
No don't let anybody (x4)
And now the is ringing, the walls are falling down
The city are singing, my soul's nowhere around
I have made a monster
I have damned myself
I have eaten all my children, I tightened 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
milking me her pussy

I until I'm convinced there's no place left to go
You know there's no left to go (x4)
So I drink until the is dry
I it never is
Sometimes though, I guess I that I'm the best
the morning after when I wake up with the guilt
Of burning down all the things my sacred hands built
And out all the love you know I never felt
Yeah, you know I felt (x4)
Let's our tortured Romeo's
Personal can be unique
You bring it on
out when you might peak
The Holy Ghost is exiled from your heart and from your
If you control it it's no fun, and if it's fun you've lost
past is plagiarism
your symbols dried up
Your as confused
As old lovers you dug
Like hidden toxic fume
Your soul
In the ozone of guilty acts motive
All the things you
There's bodies dancing,
Sexual
Crazy in an
The way people eat
Regrets overwhelms, and tired bodies fall
Bankrupt from the
split one more eight-ball
Blue as beggars, beaten,
eyes made of rust
And we all know when it gets like this there's no one you can
No no no one you can trust(x4)
Some say the solution's in the sweat-box
I wouldn't
I've never been there, I sold my to get a rock
We sing along to AM radio stations
And drink expensive wine, toast the friends we left hanging
Like in conceit
We heard the cracks
I know for sure don't trust no one who says' got you back
The windows all
Outside the noise booms
Everyone's now hidden like cockroaches in rooms
I've been brought back from the dead before, so can happen
with tragic antics, down and out like Eric Clapton
These are my wild years, I'm trying to enjoy the
The of dying
Toxins in my brain
all been leaders of corruption
We've all spiders on the wall
Waiting for a hand to smash us or the doom of to fall
Is guilt of just self-hatred
wild, uncontained
Leaking from a broken
Is creation or a stain
Is creation or a stain...