Luyện nghe bài hát Garbage

The ritual goes, window different visual.

Wing of wax, or wing of gold
one. Float or plummet 20 thousand cold legues
My nourishment's in the summer
So that I
How y'all chasin' dreams when what's tangible still ya
Hail dirty doll performance
Warm as the march of a torches forward to burn what I born at
Cut and paste alertness to set is provided quick
Shimmy the pirate mast, bat the eyelids at the siren in her bow (?)
Facing, let's salute the embrace generals who turned innocent hermits to burning spectacles.
with a serpent workin' overtime
Drain the battery, the poison and flood his majesty's hatchery.
I was riding on the yellow bus to where the thickens.
Yeah, an it ain't exactly plush
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 me over one.
Snake
Breath too to hold.
Caught up in the wake of the red tryin' to swim it.
Ran for the sake of dead click of idealic image
Steal a sloppy earth meal feed my pottery wheel to model vision
Thrill, shrunken a bucket of pennies
I'ma my sneakers through the dirt like alligator bellies
'Til the cloud
Honour and a thirst submersed in a trap
Little drummer boy verse'

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

No enigma, an to bury the hatchet
Rendered me victim of deviltry plus wounded like
somethin hazardous
I an inch of differnce in this mornin's pollution pistons and how the loose ends drift in
My pash (?) institutions slipped in admidst the invaders and,
my tone but,
This garden's grown acres since my visit.
Itchin' to count the layers in the blizzard to that chapter where my family the dagger 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, play our games you'll win
Coz it's that carnival where freak show spectacle's your friend.
An' I'm a,
Ghostly galleon, tossed cloudy seas
Antifreeze to glacier cookin' a look of fiery
the,
Ceilin' too heavy to bless the I-beams for a fraction more collapse (I left sorry) that to your door.
my back to hell's kitchen, back
Burnin' murder machinery, released regardless of the
Hitchin my life to the leash of one
Sick of same different visual
Same agnostic different ritual
Play, coopertive supercolony clash (I heard we have a dust - let me see it)
Ooh, I duel this verse forced adaption to the marbles of the now
Since then my knuckles haven't once on the ground.

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

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