Luyện nghe bài hát Lost

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

He finds his slippers where he left them the chair
the two cups and an old copy of Marie Claire
And he switches on the coffee
of course works like a dream
Catches of his reflection in the silver surface sheen

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

Past the plasma with the screen
And the cinema sound
And he stops on his favorite spot by the and looks down
On the orange lit street at the edge of the private car
Where his Audi TT is waitin' safely in the

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

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

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

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

Tryin' to recapture the he used to get
his material possessions and endless retail therapy sessions
Shoulda to what his dad said before he died
The best things in life are the you cant buy, son

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

He to feel so safe up here in his shrine to Ikea
Away from the shouts and the and the girls
the over painted pouts
And the and the dykes and the kids in their box fresh Nikes
Deliverin' to the house across the street
On rusty mountain

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