Luyện nghe bài hát Lost

Picture this, 2:30 on the night in June
He awakes for no reason and checks his by the moon
And his mouth as dry as his eyes as he struggles to rise
And to contemplate his wifes thighs as he does up his flies

He finds his slippers where he left them under the
Behind the two and an old copy of Marie Claire
And he switches on the coffee
That of course works a dream
Catches sight of his reflection in the silver surface

And it's a face he knows well although it should look less
all these moisturizers and the skin products hes used
As he moves through the kitchen, his homage to brushed
Across the new pine floorin' plastic but looks real

Past the with the wide screen
And the cinema sound
And he stops on his favorite spot by the window and down
On the orange lit street at the of the private car park
Where his TT is waitin' safely in the dark

Keepin' it all of you
Somethin' will have to
And if you could youll take it
But you lose way in the way you live

Now he can hear wind chimes out on the balcony
And his beepin' out a text message in the same key
He checks it and its Jill who to be his secretary
Before they started an affair and began to get really scary

Now his Mary is gettin' weary of his lies
Like shes read the whole story in his eyes
It doesnt help that Jills now sayin' that shes two weeks
His state is really startin' to deteriorate

He never how he got so out of his depth
Or why hes broken than all these promises kept
And its ages since he slept properly
His sleeps now broken by dreams of extra-marital activity

Tryin' to recapture the rapture he to get
From his material possessions and endless therapy sessions
Shoulda listened to what his dad said he died
The things in life are the ones you cant buy, son

Keepin' it all of you
Somethin' have to give
Wish you buy a ticket back
But you lose way in the way you live

He used to feel so safe up here in his to Ikea
Away the shouts and the louts and the girls
the over painted pouts
And the queers and the and the kids in their box fresh Nikes
Deliverin' rocks to the house across the
On rusty mountain

He used to feel so up here in his shrine to Ikea
Away the shouts and the louts and the girls
With the painted pouts
And the queers and the dykes and the in their box fresh Nikes
Deliverin' rocks to the house the street
On mountain bikes