Luyện nghe bài hát I Am The Bearer, I Stand In Need

I loved you, but never said a word to make it known
I fucking loathed you, but said the words as hard to harm

I'm so tired of men to quote

My God doesn't quiver, and nor he do
From threats below the Tropic Of
And nor he do

I was born a idiot, but no one told me til I die o' it
My God doesn't quiver from below the Tropic Of Cancer
Well I was born who I was, no doctored could say that I'm not
But I'll take my own word for it and the sign, "Here be a cunt"

I sat beneath portraits and drew symbols of on my arm
I used only pencil, nothing in my life can ever last
I watched my mother garden, and of all the times I made her cry
I watched my sister me, we both agreed kids like us never last

I crawl under the stairs, I under the fern

Decaying leaves, a garden
She drags her fingers across the
I can hear my weep
In other soil in another

She's getting drunk and fights
famous pricks who run the world
I can my sister weep
In another in another room

These fingers faster
lungs grow louder
I can hear my weep
"Spare the drama, now go to sleep"

My father looks his house
and into ferns and his son
"You've made women weep
So leave the house or leave life"

I dream, I of England
Oh fern, the world in bloom

I dream, I dream of
Oh rotting wood, my boat to

I never of what I did
I love what's wrong with me
No or wine could twist my arm
To say I was wrong my life

I'd never harm a soul
If I was told they didn't it
leaves to hide my corpse
I want his hands to fucking touch me

I hid in the local fern, but no one ever

I, made my God quiver, through social and planned dementia
I, made quiver, through social dissonance and planned dementia
I, made myself quiver, through dissonance and forced dementia
I dream, I dream of
Oh foreign fern, the in bloom

I dream, I dream of
Oh rotting wood, my boat to

I never thought of I did
I love what's wrong with me
No prayer or wine twist my arm
To say I was wrong about my

I'd never a living soul
If I was they didn't deserve it
Decaying leaves to my corpse
I don't want his hands to touch me

I hid in the local fern, but no one knew

I, my God quiver, through social dissonance and planned dementia
I, made myself quiver, through dissonance and planned dementia
I, myself quiver, through social dissonance and forced