Luyện nghe bài hát Good Morning, Hypocrite

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

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

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

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

Our heads, our hands, our brains, our lungs: they're machines.
These are all that we've 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 knives beneath their clothes.
Their arms are reaching; reach is through the neon glow.
Their mouths are moving, but voices sound like telephones.
The hums; the traffic grumbles near my old window.
The lights flicker; glow and hover like suspended snow.
I used to watch the moon retreat and where it goes.
Now I just why my head is overrun with ghosts