Luyện nghe bài hát Lost

Picture this: two thirty on the hottest night in
He awaits for no and checks his watch by the moon
And his mouth feels as dry as his eyes as he struggles to
and to contemplate his [wife's?] eyes as he does up his flies
He his slippers where he left them under the chair
behind the two cups and an old copy of Claire
And he switches on the coffee that, of course, works like a dream
Catches sight of his reflection in the silver sheen
and it's a face he knows well, although it look less abused,
with all these moisturisers and the skin he used
As he moves through the kitchen his homage to steel,
across the new pine flooring plastic but looks real
Past the with the wide screen and cinema surround sound
and he stops at his favourite spot by the and looks down
On the orange lit street at the edge of the car park
where his TT is waiting safely in the dark (safely in the dark)
it all inside of you (inside of you)
Something will to give
And if you could, you'll it back
But you lose your way in the way you
Now he can hear windchimes tinkling out on the
and his phone beeping out a message in the same key
He it and it's Jill who used to be his secretary
before they started an affair and things began to get really
Now his wife Mary's getting of his lies
like she's read the sordid story in his eyes
It help that Jill's now saying that she's two weeks late,
His mental state is really starting to
He never how he got so out of his depth
or why he's broken more all these promises kept
And been ages since he's slept properly
His sleep's now broken by these dreams of extra marital
Trying to recapture the he used to get
from his material possessions and endless retail therapy
Should have listened to what his dad said before he
"The best things in life are the ones you buy, son"
Keeping it all of you (inside of you)
will have to give
Wish you could buy a ticket (a ticket back)
But you lose way in the way you live
He used to feel so safe up in his shrine to Ikea
Away from the shouts and the louts, and the girls with the pouts
And the and the dykes and the kids in their box-fresh Nike's
delivering rocks to the house the street on rusty mountain bikes
He used to feel so safe up here in his shrine to
Away from the shouts and the louts, and the girls with the overpainted
And the queers and the and the kids in their box-fresh Nike's
delivering rocks to the house across the street on rusty bikes