Luyện nghe bài hát Garbage

The ritual goes, same different visual.

of wax, or wing of gold leaf
Choose one. Float or plummet 20 cold legues
My nourishment's provided in the
So I wonder
How y'all chasin' dreams when what's tangible still ya
Hail dirty doll immaculate
Warm as the march of a billion torches to burn what I born at
Cut and alertness to current set is provided quick
Shimmy the pirate ship mast, bat the at the siren in her bow (?)
Facing, let's salute the embrace pertinent who turned innocent hermits to burning spectacles.
Flirtin' with a workin' overtime
Drain the battery, siphon the poison and flood his hatchery.
I was riding on the yellow bus to where the thickens.
Yeah, an it ain't plush pickin's
I'd rather take the time to every last bridge I've ever crossed beneath the sun
Than live my life knowin' you may one day follow me one.
bite
Breath too to hold.
Caught up in the wake of the red witch tryin' to it.
Ran for the sake of dead stripped of idealic image
Steal a sloppy earth meal feed my pottery wheel to model vision
Thrill, shrunken with a bucket of
I'ma drag my sneakers through the dirt like alligator
'Til the cloud
and a loud thirst submersed in a trap
Little drummer boy thunderclap

In a city of garbage, tryin' to the harvest
Adaption is the trap in the artist meets the forest
Swing your axe or be an oak tree if you can
Either way, adapt to or play you final hand.

No enigma, an attempt to bury the
Rendered me victim of deviltry plus wounded stigmatics
Somethin's hazardous
I smell an inch of in this mornin's pollution pistons and how the loose ends drift in
My pash (?) institutions slipped in admidst the invaders and,
Pardon my but,
This garden's grown acres since my visit.
Itchin' to count the layers in the blizzard to that chapter where my family inserts the and twists it.
It's the carnival, have you any for my weary kin
It's the carnival, have you any for my cheery grin
It's the carnival, welcome, our games you'll never win
Coz it's that carnival where freak show spectacle's your friend.
An' I'm a,
galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas
Antifreeze to cookin' a look of fiery nature
the,
Ceilin' too heavy to bless the I-beams for a fraction more collapse (I left sorry) that to your door.
Bitchin' my to hell's kitchen, back
Burnin' murder machinery, released of the pardons
Hitchin my life to the of one minstrel
Sick of same different visual
Same agnostic hostage ritual
Play, coopertive supercolony clash (I heard we have a collection - let me see it)
Ooh, I this underdog verse forced adaption to the marbles of the now
Since my knuckles haven't once dragged on the ground.

In a city of garbage, to reap the harvest
Adaption is the in which the artist meets the forest
your little axe or be an oak tree if you can
Either way, adapt to circumstance or you final hand.

The ritual goes, same different visual.
The is same fucken' window different visual.