Luyện nghe bài hát The Scret Lfe of Mark Bristow

the perfect
the white fence kind
the type
the lie
we've all got demons
that tear out the pilgrim in white
they stop us from doing whats

we can apologize for
our meaningless sighs
lack for attempted cries

the perfect
the perfect

he clears his and smiles
he his hands and walks away
from the woman he ever loved
besides his

torn the hand
of his gone
hates to to
let his go
brought to
her die

he his throat and smiles
he washes his hands and walks
the only woman he ever loved
besides his

he thinks of how he
wanted to kill her
than he was
her sleep
knowing all the
she had him

the meek will the earth