Luyện nghe bài hát Happy Hour

by alcohol,
shooting out like a rocket,
like a prophet out of
method the absurd...
me those highballs
till I'm lit up like I'm plugged in a
lock me to eyeball,
let's not with the words.
Oh, bring on the clowns, on the night,
pour me double in black and white.
I'm falling, falling give me that look!
I'm falling, falling, it's the oldest 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 taking
they're away the safety net.
Falling, falling don't me that look!
I'm falling, only falling, it's the oldest in the book,
on the high-wire tower
is this really they mean by "Happy Hour"?

The line the social and the suicidal
so fine he not know when he's crossed it,
he's lost it;
when the social kick the gauging-stick of survival.

So to the circus,
drink to the game of forgetting
the marionette strings that us,
the real world just the door.
I know that my legs gone
and I know that the light here is far perfect...
but I've rehearsed it, so I'll on
I wind 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 me that look!
I'm falling, falling, it's the oldest trick in the book,
My chickadee, my flower,
show me the way to the Hour.
Vertigo on the tower
is really what they mean by "Happy Hour"?

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