Luyện nghe bài hát Garbage

The goes, same window different visual.

of wax, or wing of gold leaf
Choose one. Float or 20 thousand cold legues
My provided in the summer
So I wonder
How y'all chasin' dreams when what's still outruns ya
Hail dirty immaculate performance
as the march of a billion torches 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 salute the pertinent generals who turned innocent hermits to burning spectacles.
with a serpent workin' overtime
Drain the battery, siphon the poison and flood his hatchery.
I was riding on the bus to where the brush thickens.
Yeah, an it exactly plush pickin's
I'd rather take the time to burn every last I've ever crossed beneath the sun
Than my life knowin' you may one day follow me over one.
bite
Breath too to hold.
Caught up in the of the red witch tryin' to swim it.
Ran for the sake of click stripped of idealic image
Steal a sloppy earth meal feed my pottery wheel to collossal vision
Thrill, with a bucket of pennies
I'ma drag my sneakers through the dirt like bellies
the cloud burst
Honour and a loud submersed in a trap
Little drummer boy verse'

In a city of garbage, to reap the harvest
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 wounded like stigmatics
Somethin's hazardous
I smell an inch of differnce in mornin's pollution pistons and how the loose ends drift in
My sour pash (?) institutions in admidst the invaders and,
Pardon my but,
This garden's grown fucken' 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 feed for my grin
It's the carnival, welcome, play our games never win
Coz it's that carnival where every freak show spectacle's friend.
An' I'm a,
Ghostly galleon, tossed cloudy seas
Antifreeze to glacier cookin' a of fiery nature
the,
Ceilin' feelin' too heavy to bless the I-beams for a fraction more (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 window different visual
Same agnostic hostage different
Play, coopertive supercolony (I heard we have a dust collection - let me see it)
Ooh, I duel this underdog verse forced to the marbles of the now
Since then my knuckles once dragged on the ground.

In a of garbage, tryin' 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.

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