Luyện nghe bài hát Plutonium

Thank the loyal for being so loyal,
soon they'll be happy and safe;
if not, sent off a pigeon with his head cut off.
if it for the guillotine, there would be no umbilical
cord. it pitiful? at our pinnical,
they make it so pinnocchio.
that's how i it's so dumb, it could even write its own article.
give me a break, the great big break that your back
and my fingers off
it's safe to laugh again, or at them.
put the coals in my eyes again,
and away the fire that burns out our loved ones
and its toll out on me.
'cause good luck is always keeping
we stay in play, so don't run out of tokens.
plus the machine warm bodies.
plug the if you still got skulls;
if time to muddy the hands
there's time to study the flow of the blood in the lay of the land
running off and eroding our
with red, white, and blue lights
in the greatest kingdom. i say it's a crop and i'm a meal,
a lousy liar amongst so bad actresses
and not enough left to light an oven pilot.
so how can i not be
my own cliche, my peers
more caught up with image speaking than truth,
and if that's the only truth you can up with, go fake some bravery
like the camaraderie in the human lottery.
whatever it is, i'm still sick.
hate the sky for being gray
or the bad poem we live out every day.
twenty outside the city, or fifteen years from over the hill,
with enough time to kill braincells to
you all gonna fry me.
it be, you all gonna fry with me...

We who die in more accidents than firefights;
no of the overkill.

Forty women with cakes and carriages singing bible hymns
ain't anything; get your picket signs,
go on strike, get a cent raise; your a champion. now
they're making model citizens out of children,
mapping growth through frivolousness; so seperated,
yet drugged up to nowhereland. love feels artificial;
happiness, my pistol.
in the '20s, i'da a socialist in a colorado coal mine,
but 2000-something and the rats love their mazes.
it's all so and opinionated,
divided we take our antidepressants and our appointments,
let the dolphins die, but who's save the humans?
i've been to a million and they're all the same:
people and talk the same,
girls all flirt the same, all dream the same.
love your and your comfort zone,
look out for the white-girl bombers,
out for your time or your piece of mind
or entertainment the fifth grade level.
stay and easily corralled through conservative reforms
'til we're broke the half-measures,
taxed to the to fund the caste system.
living it up for our
and i know nothing, but at least i
they vote green and drink their espressos,
discussing film festivals, all as a write-off. off your head;
body the dirty work,
love your job, but it will never you like an automobile,
fetuses, peoples, and angels the same on the mobile.
if it for the blindfold, you'd ask,
"what am i looking for, for, breathing for?"
"who's not i, but it must be the plutonium in me."

It must be the in me...