Luyện nghe bài hát Garbage

The ritual goes, same different visual.

Wing of wax, or wing of leaf
one. Float or plummet 20 thousand cold legues
My nourishment's in the summer
So I wonder
How y'all chasin' dreams when what's tangible outruns ya
Hail doll immaculate performance
Warm as the march of a billion forward to burn what I born at
Cut and paste alertness to current set is quick
Shimmy the pirate ship mast, bat the eyelids at the in her bow (?)
Facing, let's the embrace pertinent generals who turned innocent hermits to burning spectacles.
Flirtin' with a workin' overtime
Drain the battery, siphon the 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 the time to burn every last bridge I've ever crossed beneath the sun
live my life knowin' you may one day follow me over one.
Snake
too heavy to hold.
Caught up in the of the red witch tryin' to swim it.
Ran for the sake of dead stripped of idealic image
Steal a sloppy earth meal my pottery wheel to model collossal vision
Thrill, with a bucket of pennies
I'ma drag my through the dirt like alligator bellies
'Til the cloud
Honour and a thirst submersed in a trap
Little drummer boy verse'

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

No enigma, an attempt to bury the
Rendered me victim of deviltry plus like stigmatics
Somethin's hazardous
I smell an inch of in this mornin's pollution pistons and how the loose ends drift in
My sour pash (?) institutions slipped in 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 the dagger and twists it.
It's the carnival, have you any sweets for my 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,
Ghostly galleon, upon cloudy seas
to glacier 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 back to hell's kitchen,
Burnin' murder machinery, released of the pardons
my life to the leash of one minstrel
Sick of same different visual
Same agnostic hostage different
Play, supercolony clash (I heard we have a dust collection - let me see it)
Ooh, I this underdog verse forced adaption to the marbles of the now
then my knuckles haven't once dragged on the ground.

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

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