Luyện nghe bài hát Good Morning, Hypocrite

Seems like the roads 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 things. They're not for me.
I want mundane: a quiet place, where is free,
And I can ...

Climbed from my bed, to collect the thoughts fallen from my head,
And you watched me sink, the carpet, through 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 were staring the wind.
So I climbed through the window and walked I lost my name.
Now I can play the victim. fine. I've seen 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 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 their well-pressed clothes.
Their arms are reaching; reach is through the neon glow.
Their mouths are moving, but voices sound like telephones.
The traffic hums; the traffic near my old window.
The street lights flicker; glow and hover suspended snow.
I used to watch the moon retreat and wonder it goes.
Now I just wonder why my head is overrun with