Luyện nghe bài hát God Is In His Heaven, All Is Right With The World

1) is not meditation. That's isn't what substitutes for conversation.
And who is wrong holes burning into their heads or bloated sacks shifting in
stomachs?

Over feeling unloved, worn out and nothing?

2) The human bodies moving in a vibrant language. Sending signals
in unfortunate ways, (through tones.)

Just enough to kow there is no recovery. How can I even compare? (I'm hiding
out. Shaving my head. I'm calls. Covering my tracks.)

I want to form some sort of expression. I to make some sense out of this.
Without the collective, I want to know everything.

Sometimes I want to scream and sometimes I don't want to be around here.
Sometimes I just want to pilot a giant robot, days that only exist in my
head.

Instead of excuses I be looking for reasons,
Finding passion in my own of convenience.