Luyện nghe bài hát Personal Journalist

Sage
Personal

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Francis.
Merchant.

son...father to none...

Husband to something soulless and didn't spend his with who he loved.
The workers in showbiz need no diamond studded glove.
"His time is up!" He's still the poised to make a come back.
Kill the noise until the sun's black.
Moonwalk around New York City and get murdered by of sheep,
Who dance circles inside a box of beats.
The California Dream end quick.
Couldn't find middle ground in towns on some Midwest trip.
He for something...but fell for every trick 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.
him red handed...only if his palms are bleeding.

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

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

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