Luyện nghe bài hát Poor Fractured Atlas

He's out in the with his squirrel gun
To try to recapture his
screaming some words at the top of his lungs
Until he begins to feel
But at his desk in the city we find
Our trembling fighter
Who find the strength now to punish the length
Of the in his little typewriter

fractured Atlas
Threw himself the mattress
Waving his pencil
As if it were a cutlass
I'm almost certain trying to increase his burden
He "that's how the child in me planned it
A wouldn't understand it"

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

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