Luyện nghe bài hát Personal Journalist

Sage
Personal

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

For cheap exposure. He'd seek for but stayed open minded.
Always seemed to keep peeking over both his eyelids.
Speaking vulgar in misleading of ultra-violence.
Teaching how to be more 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 lice before the scabs heal.

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

And that's not even half of the nutshell cats are
to crack open to extract his cells from.
When he comes from hell again,
You'll a few bones to pick with 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 making the Earth shift.
kid games are silly. When all art is signed anonymous,
He'll turn Big Bang Theory 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 hardest workers in showbiz need no diamond glove.
"His is up!" He's still the type poised to make a come back.
the white noise until the sun's black.
Moonwalk New York City and get murdered by flocks of sheep,
Who square dance circles a box of beats.
The Dream sequences end quick.
Couldn't find middle in little towns on some Midwest trip.
He stood for something...but 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 burn a 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 that
Get out my face with all that sunshine
Get out my face with all that sunshine
Get out my face.