Luyện nghe bài hát Exercises In Futility I

The great is there isn't one
And it only gets worse that conclusion
The irony of being an to nothing
And the of inertia is now a vital factor

And there is despair each and every action
Each and every attempt to the armour of numbness
Burning bridges becomes a habit to
And the line expands like there's no tomorrow

I the maggots
Their stuff at least sticks
Better laudations of misinformed seers
And those are lengthy annals of shame that we with

It's dumping dead meat at the brink of Styx
With a barge that we made of what was left of
After veterans of spiritual revolts were with their armchairs
And I don't even remember brink is which

The odour of sanctity is refined stench of existence
Shining of Augeas' crown pales in comparison

And there is despair underneath and every action
Each and every attempt to pierce the of numbness
Burning bridges becomes a habit to
And the front line expands there's no tomorrow

The grotesque eagles of misfortune, fed on thanatos, sit still
the dignity of scavengers at the ever growing garbage dump of life

There is about the rigid posture of a proper, authentic blind
As if extended arms reached to pass his blindness onto