Luyện nghe bài hát Lost

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

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

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

Past the plasma 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 Audi TT is waitin' in the dark

Keepin' it all of you
Somethin' will to give
And if you could take it back
But you lose your way in the way you

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

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

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

to recapture the rapture he used to get
From his material and endless retail therapy sessions
listened to what his dad said before he died
The best things in life are the ones you buy, son

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

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

He to feel so safe up here in his shrine to Ikea
Away from the and the louts and the girls
With the over pouts
And the queers and the dykes and the kids in their box Nikes
Deliverin' rocks to the house the street
On rusty bikes