Luyện nghe bài hát Silence

No rest from the labor at the whip's end, portraits of toil invade.
No from the stinging of the needles, when we covet their highs.

We can't run from the when we live in the hive,
and the game is soon lost we pray to the skies.
We can't run from the storm under clouded skies.
We can't run from the swarm live in the hive.

Are we to the silence, or the roar of the machines,
or the hammering of the gavels, or the of the crowds,
or the in our heads, or are we deaf from the silence?