Luyện nghe bài hát Personal Journalist

Sage
Journalist

He left with deep breaths in each chest that less innovating,
Because they're still debating what "rhyme skill" is.
Got Sick of Waiting...for time killers to get their murder raps.
Then he sold his own off his back

For cheap exposure. seek for closure but stayed open minded.
Always to keep composure peeking over both his eyelids.
Speaking vulgar in misleading of ultra-violence.
Teaching others how to be loving through brotherly guidance.

A bleeding soldier knows the science. He the math quick and writes
Without to think twice.
asking for advice. Letting the scalps peel.
Having brains picked by head lice the scabs heal.

His death mask his face paint.
It feels a safe place, but it ain't.
Feels like it seals fates, but it don't.
He's not a real saint. Just another one of those religious, jokes.

And not even half of the nutshell cats are compelled
to crack to extract his blood cells from.
When he comes from hell again,
You'll have a few bones to pick a fractured skeleton.

Sage
Anti-socialite.
Admirer.
Loaner.
Drifter.
Bootlegger.
Doctor.
Referentialist.
Runner.
Journalist.

Word is the worthless wordsmiths were conversing twists.
Heard they're concerned with the Earth shift.
These kid games are silly. all art is signed anonymous,
He'll turn that Big Bang Theory into a Pop Hypothesis.

Francis.
Merchant.

son...father to none...

Husband to something soulless and didn't his life with who he loved.
The hardest workers in showbiz need no diamond glove.
"His time is up!" He's still the type poised to make a back.
Kill the noise until the sun's black.
around New York City and get murdered by flocks of sheep,
Who dance circles inside a box of beats.
The California sequences end quick.
Couldn't find middle ground in towns on some Midwest trip.
He stood for something...but fell for every in the book, so he stopped believing...
In an garden of Eden.
"Get off the cross!" Of course we need the wood to a Godless heathen.
Catch him red handed...only if his are bleeding.

Sage
Non-Prophet.
Intelligent.
Avant Guardian Angel Mite.

It's a pleasure. It's been a pleasure

But get out of my weathered with all that sunshine
Get out my weathered face with all sunshine
Get out my weathered with all that sunshine
Get out my face.