Luyện nghe bài hát Good Morning, Hypocrite

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

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

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

On the glass, I the sun with my thumb. It sank into the ground.
And then the stars were blinking, like kids who were 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 really know enough.

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

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