Luyện nghe bài hát Garbage

The goes, same window different visual.

Wing of wax, or wing of gold
Choose one. Float or plummet 20 thousand legues
My provided in the summer
So that I
How y'all chasin' when what's tangible still outruns ya
dirty doll immaculate performance
Warm as the of a billion torches forward to burn what I born at
Cut and paste alertness to current set is quick
Shimmy the ship mast, bat the eyelids at the siren in her bow (?)
Facing, let's salute the embrace pertinent generals who turned innocent hermits to spectacles.
Flirtin' a serpent workin' overtime
the battery, siphon the poison and flood his majesty's hatchery.
I was on the yellow bus to where the brush thickens.
Yeah, an it ain't exactly plush
I'd rather take the time to burn last bridge I've ever crossed beneath the sun
Than live my knowin' you may one day follow me over one.
bite
Breath too to hold.
Caught up in the wake of the red witch tryin' to it.
Ran for the sake of click stripped of idealic image
Steal a sloppy earth meal feed my wheel to model collossal vision
Thrill, shrunken with a bucket of
I'ma drag my sneakers through the dirt alligator bellies
'Til the cloud
Honour and a loud submersed in a trap
Little boy verse' thunderclap

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

No enigma, an to bury the hatchet
Rendered me victim of deviltry wounded like stigmatics
Somethin's hazardous
I smell an inch of differnce in this pollution pistons and how the loose ends drift in
My sour pash (?) slipped in admidst the invaders and,
my tone but,
This grown fucken' acres since my visit.
Itchin' to count the layers in the blizzard to that chapter where my inserts the dagger and twists it.
It's the carnival, you any sweets for my weary kin
It's the carnival, have you any feed for my cheery
It's the carnival, welcome, play our you'll never win
Coz it's that carnival where every show spectacle's your friend.
An' I'm a,
Ghostly galleon, 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 back to kitchen, back
Burnin' murder machinery, released regardless of the
Hitchin my life to the of one minstrel
Sick of same window different
Same agnostic different ritual
Play, coopertive supercolony clash (I we have a dust collection - let me see it)
Ooh, I this underdog verse forced adaption to the marbles of the now
Since then my haven't once dragged on the ground.

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

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