Luyện nghe bài hát Happy Hour

by alcohol,
shooting out words a rocket,
like a prophet out of
method the absurd...
Shoot me those
I'm lit up like I'm plugged in a socket;
lock me to eyeball,
not bother with the words.
Oh, on the clowns, bring on the night,
pour me vision in black and white.
I'm falling, falling don't give me look!
I'm falling, falling, it's the trick in the book,
My chickadee, my flower,
show me the way to the Hour.

I don't to see that:
oh, no, I don't the way the hand is shaking,
shape-making like an
on his way to the trapeze.
My in the crowd
are all bets
they're taking away the net.
Falling, don't give me that look!
I'm falling, falling, it's the oldest trick in the book,
on the high-wire tower
is this really what mean by "Happy Hour"?

The between the social and the suicidal
so fine he might not when he's crossed it,
he's lost it;
when the social kick becomes the of survival.

So to the circus,
let's drink to the of forgetting
the strings that jerk us,
the real world just the door.
I that my legs have gone
and I know that the here is far from perfect...
but I've rehearsed it, so I'll on
I wind up on the floor.

My in the bar
stand me a round,
they'll me on my way to the underground.
I'm falling, don't give me that look!
I'm falling, falling, it's the oldest trick in the book,
My chickadee, my flower,
me the way to the Happy Hour.
Vertigo on the tower
is this really they mean by "Happy Hour"?

Put on the greasepaint, we're ready for Happy Hour.
Do you hear me now? Can you feel me
I'm in the middle of Hour...
Put on the greasepaint.
[repeat to