Luyện nghe bài hát Garbage

The ritual goes, same different visual.

Wing of wax, or of gold leaf
Choose one. Float or plummet 20 cold legues
My nourishment's in the summer
So I wonder
How y'all chasin' dreams when what's tangible still ya
Hail dirty doll performance
as the march of a billion torches forward to burn what I born at
Cut and alertness to current set is provided quick
Shimmy the pirate mast, bat the eyelids at the siren in her bow (?)
Facing, let's salute the embrace pertinent generals who 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 exactly plush
I'd rather take the time to burn every last bridge I've ever beneath the sun
Than live my life knowin' you may one day me over one.
bite
Breath too to hold.
Caught up in the of the red witch tryin' to swim it.
Ran for the of dead click stripped of idealic image
Steal a sloppy earth meal feed my pottery to model collossal vision
Thrill, shrunken with a bucket of
I'ma drag my sneakers the dirt like alligator bellies
'Til the cloud
and a loud thirst submersed in a trap
Little drummer boy thunderclap

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

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

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

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