Luyện nghe bài hát Fugazi

Vodka intimate, an affair with in a Blackheath cell
the fires in a private hell
Provoking the heartache to renew the
Of a bleeding heart in a fragile capsule

Propping up the crust of the glitter
Wrapped in the shard of a hangover
Baptized in tears from the real, from the real

Drowning in the liquid seas on the line, rat-race
through the damp electric labyrinth
(Caress Ophelia's hand with ambition)
(An albatross in the marry tradition)

Sheathed with the Walkman wear the halo of
Aural aborting pregnant conversation
(She turned the and it pierced my heart)
(She hung around my neck)

From the time-life guardians in their conscience
Safe and dry in my sea of
Nine to fives, with ties

Cast adrift as sideshow
(Sideshow)

(Peepshow)
Stereo becalm, be still, bewitch
Drowning, drowning in the

The thief of Baghdad hides in now
deportation for his sacred cow
A legacy of romance from a twilight
The dowry of a mystery girl

A flower, a dockland union
A mistress of release a magazine's thighs
contract more than favors
The feeding of western promise hold her by the throat

A son of the of '45, parading a peroxide standard
Graffiti conjure testaments of hatred
Aerosol wands where the searchlights
the barbed wire hedges, this is Brixton chess

A for embankments folds his newspaper castle
A creature of habit, begs the boatman's
He'll fade old soldiers in the grease stained roll call
And linger the heartburn of Good Friday's last supper

Son watches father obituary columns
In of absent school friends
While his digests high fiber ignorance
Cowering behind curtains and the up, painted windows

genocide
Provided door to Belsens
Pandora's box of
Gracefully cruising satellite infested

Waiting, waiting the season of the
The migration
perfumes for the fashionably
For the terminally insane,

Do-do-do you
Do-do-do you
you realize
This world is fugazi

are the prophets, where are the visionaries?
Where are the poets to breach the dawn of the mercenary?
Where are the prophets, where are the
Where are the poets to breach the dawn of the sentimental
Where are the prophets, where are the
Where are the poets to breach the of the sentimental mercenary?

are the prophets?