Luyện nghe bài hát Lost

Picture this: two on the hottest night in June
He awaits for no reason and checks his by the moon
And his mouth feels as dry as his eyes as he to rise
and to contemplate his [wife's?] eyes as he does up his flies
He finds his slippers where he left under the chair
the two cups and an old copy of Marie Claire
And he switches on the machine that, of course, works like a dream
Catches sight of his reflection in the silver surface
and a face he knows well, although it should look less abused,
with all these moisturisers and the skin he used
As he moves the kitchen his homage to brush steel,
the new pine flooring that's plastic but looks real
Past the plasma with the wide screen and cinema sound
and he stops at his favourite spot by the window and looks
On the orange lit at the edge of the private car park
where his Audi TT is waiting in the dark (safely in the dark)
Keeping it all of you (inside of you)
Something will to give
And if you could, take it back
But you your way in the way you live
Now he can windchimes tinkling out on the balcony
and his phone beeping out a text message in the key
He checks it and it's Jill who to be his secretary
before they started an affair and things began to get really
Now his wife Mary's wary of his lies
like she's read the whole story in his eyes
It doesn't help that Jill's now saying she's two weeks late,
His mental state is starting to deteriorate
He never knew how he got so out of his
or why he's broken more than all these kept
And been ages since he's slept properly
His sleep's now broken by dreams of extra marital activity
Trying to the rapture he used to get
from his material possessions and retail therapy sessions
have listened to what his dad said before he died
"The things in life are the ones you can't buy, son"
it all inside of you (inside of you)
Something will to give
Wish you buy a ticket back (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 from the shouts and the louts, and the with the overpainted pouts
And the queers and the dykes and the kids in their Nike's
delivering to the house across the street on rusty mountain bikes
He used to so safe up here in his shrine to Ikea
Away from the shouts and the louts, and the with the overpainted pouts
And the queers and the dykes and the kids in their box-fresh
delivering rocks to the house across the street on mountain bikes