Luyện nghe bài hát Lost

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

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

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

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

it all inside of you
Somethin' will have to
And if you youll take it back
But you your way in the way you live

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

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

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

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

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

He used to so safe up here in his shrine to Ikea
Away the shouts and the louts and the girls
With the over pouts
And the queers and the dykes and the kids in box fresh Nikes
Deliverin' rocks to the house the street
On rusty mountain

He used to so safe up here in his shrine to Ikea
Away from the shouts and the and the girls
the over painted pouts
And the queers and the dykes and the kids in their box Nikes
rocks to the house across the street
On rusty bikes