Luyện nghe bài hát Good Morning, Hypocrite

Seems like the roads stretch out veins, but there's no heart.
Nature's haircut is now, and we played our part.
So we ...

I've lost my taste for things. They're not for me.
I want mundane: a quiet place, time is free,
And I can ...

Climbed from my bed, to collect the that'd fallen from my head,
And you me sink, through the carpet, through the basement, and beyond.
And you blink.

On the glass, I traced the sun with my thumb. It into the ground.
And the stars were blinking, like kids who were staring into the wind.
So I through the window and walked until I lost my name.
Now I can play the victim. It's fine. I've it on TV.
But if there's one thing I know, it's that I never really enough.

Our heads, our hands, our brains, our lungs: just machines.
These hearts are all that got left, and they don't beat.

Live a little, talk a lot; it's the way goes.
I've come to fear the little beneath their well-pressed clothes.
Their arms are reach is spreading through the neon glow.
Their mouths are moving, but their voices sound telephones.
The traffic the traffic grumbles near my old window.
The lights flicker; glow and hover like suspended snow.
I used to the moon retreat and wonder where it goes.
Now I just wonder why my head is overrun with