Luyện nghe bài hát Happy Hour

by alcohol,
shooting out words a rocket,
like a out of Babylon
acting the absurd...
Shoot me highballs
till I'm lit up like I'm in a socket;
lock me to eyeball,
let's not with the words.
Oh, bring on the clowns, on the night,
me double vision in black and white.
I'm falling, falling don't me that look!
I'm falling, falling, it's the trick in the book,
My chickadee, my flower,
me the way to the Happy Hour.

I like to see that:
oh, no, I like 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 the safety net.
Falling, falling give me that look!
I'm falling, falling, it's the oldest trick in the book,
vertigo on the high-wire
is this really what mean by "Happy Hour"?

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

So to the circus,
drink to the game of forgetting
the strings that jerk us,
the real just outside the door.
I know that my legs gone
and I that the light here is far from perfect...
but rehearsed it, so I'll carry on
until I up on the floor.

My in the bar
will me a round,
they'll me on my way to the underground.
I'm falling, falling don't give me look!
I'm falling, only falling, it's the oldest in the book,
My chickadee, my flower,
show me the way to the Hour.
on the high-wire tower
is this what they mean by "Happy Hour"?

Put on the greasepaint, getting ready for Happy Hour.
Do you hear me now? Can you me now?
I'm in the middle of Hour...
Put on the greasepaint.
to fade]