Luyện nghe bài hát Good Morning, Hypocrite

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

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

Climbed my bed, to collect the thoughts 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 sank the ground.
And then the stars were blinking, like who were staring into the wind.
So I climbed through the window and until I lost my name.
Now I can the victim. It's fine. I've seen 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: they're machines.
These hearts are all we've got left, and they don't beat.

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