Luyện nghe bài hát Non-Objective Portrait Of Karma

Ignorance is bliss no wise woman's failed to
and surely some koan suggests 'neglect to perfection'
but the I turn my face from the crowd
the more I feel my backs' increasingly
for the of escape, to turn a knife on itself,
a of relief, from all the petty insight
and finally I'll sleep, I'll through the night.
Bored as fuck on this corner-cover.
of a face in a figure. surveying this language as a game
surveilence of language as the plague.
the of persistence condemns.
portrait of karma, crafted in accident
text book seduction, minus the in the language of ghosts
and so we ran, like the were biting,
the inhibitions of their prey kept them from
"scratch my and I will stab you in yours"
so I chose to live this alone, without the teeth marks
but I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in someone heart to heal my own.
just a split, one part for the wolves, one part for you.
but I'll grow weary soon, weary of this code,
weary of this hallway with ghosts.
a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to let them in
their words cause the sweetest fracture from a stone's throw
just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to them
parasitic, viral critics, or lovers, like mingling in the mist
that we crafted, a starving jury, let eat shit from our trembling hands.
The for heat's sake, on this Barnard block of Congress
speaking, the polar of progress
well maybe I put too much in the accident
entranced, we toward the ripest display of escape
let the ghosts feats, from this flesh, from these bones,
let them all feast. light as a feather, stand back let the starving ghosts feast In this chess game of language, to sit so I play all alone, watch the bathos drift forth like the petals from a wild crafted rose.