Luyện nghe bài hát Creation or a stain

I got a god in my
Tells me that I'm
Got a god in my
Telling me I'm
An little god punching on my skull
Another god
me that I'm lazy
A piece of shit with no love to give at all now
And the god up there
Thinks that I'm the
Tells me no one could be as good as me.
I to them all, I was a disc jockey to consequences
Little propagandist misery
I build a I got to get away
A shirt made out of wood and glue and crack and some paint(????)
No one see ya down and no one's 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, don't let anybody
No don't let near (x4)
And now the telephone is ringing, the walls are falling
The city are singing, my soul's nowhere around
I have made a monster
I have damned myself
I have all my children, I have 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 sucking on tit
She's milking me her

I drink until I'm convinced there's no left to go
You know there's no place to go (x4)
So I drink the pain 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 love you know I never
Yeah, you know I felt (x4)
make our tortured Romeo's
Personal can be unique
You it on yourself
Burn out when you might
The Holy is exiled from your heart and from your soul
If you control it it's no fun, and if it's fun lost control
past is plagiarism
your have dried up
corruption's as confused
As old that you dug
Like hidden toxic fume
Your soul
In the ozone of guilty with motive
All the you hate
bodies dancing, crazed
Sexual
in an orgy
The way people eat
weight overwhelms, and tired bodies fall
Bankrupt from the
split 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 solution's in the sweat-box
I know
I've never there, I sold my keys to get a rock
We sing along to forgotten AM radio
And expensive wine, toast the friends that we left hanging
Like prisoners in
We heard the cracks
I know for sure don't trust no one who says' they've got you
The all explode
the noise pollution booms
Everyone's now like cockroaches in dark rooms
I've been brought back the dead before, so anything can happen
Obsessed with tragic antics, down and out Eric Clapton
These are my wild years, I'm trying to enjoy the
The euphoria of
Toxins in my brain
We've all been of corruption
We've all been on the wall
Waiting for a hand to smash us or the of light to fall
Is guilt of just self-hatred
Runnin' wild,
Leaking from a soul
Is this or a stain
Is creation or a stain...