Luyện nghe bài hát Poor Fractured Atlas

He's out in the woods with his gun
To try to recapture his
screaming some words at the top of his lungs
Until he begins to feel
But back at his desk in the we find
Our trembling punch-drunken
Who can't find the strength now to the length
Of the ribbon in his little

Poor fractured
Threw himself across the
Waving his withering
As if it were a cutlass
I'm almost he's trying to increase his burden
He "that's how the child in me planned it
A woman understand it"

I believe was something that I wanted to say
I conclude this epistle
But you would forgive me for my tongue
'Cause man made the and the pistol
Yes, man made the over the dam
To his tantrum with magic
Now you can't be sure of that tent of
he punched a hole in the fabric

Poor Atlas
Threw across the mattress
his withering pencil
As if it were a cutlass
I'm almost certain he's to increase his burden
He said "that's how the child in me it
A woman wouldn't it
A woman wouldn't it
A wouldn't understand it"