Luyện nghe bài hát The Tugboat Complex

Oh my God
They've got angels sweatin' like
workin' little halos to the bone combing them deserts
my eight knotted
lifeline traffic
the way my end-less-ly defined every day
one exquisite fitted crisis an octagon of red
to the above my bed
it's not a conversation piece, public spectacles
more of a clue
so I wake up to the rains I'll be one step ahead of you
I like Kodakrome(?)
a poem for every planet
tracked their from the sun in an envelope
licked it, it
got eight yous in the mail, but nine planets means there's one left
only the earth would thank me later with a breath taking
(man, I'm a bum)
zip that waterfall around your
it to boil
loyalties, the in the soil
dig it, I split my lip kissing the
the blister in the sun
strung a hammock between spring and where the turn to blood
of worked
sip a little, litter it, it
without big beetles trying to sell him seeds by the bucket
of, tugboat for the boxcutter above those ashes
without hot air balloons floatin' their passenger baskets
and I'm you
to let a captive a caption
out massive
apolster plastic with famine patches
i-dentify all saints linked around the warmth
and for a second taste of pain when removing that crown of
?????,???,???, born hostile, pacifist huddled in masochist
the blame on ??? ???
my escape overlooks ghost town market place
artists out passes
then fast themselves to the target's
you're me

if I had a hammer, I'd a city on stilts
so my feet would stay dry when God's wine tilts

if I had a shovel, I'd dig a hole in the
and I'll be hiding when his drunken stupor upon earth

and if your wing is broken
I'll see the in hell
I can't afford another ????? in a
my carousel mimics the of a thousand leaking spickets
and a of graziers raised to justify the grimace
(and yes I the treaty)
I the remedy plus the premises
my pin cushion, my limbs the knitting needle
evils, idle, past the greeting
where the feed the cycles
stop, the eagles board the little engine that could not
in a shell
and it in my lap
passin', postin' the but the guard has misplaced the key ring (that's
wonderful)
I a flee to blaze exact songs directly into the village
power supply burning the between the magnet and my eye
now how many satisfy a mad man?
and how many crooked samaritans turn to bad land?
I can count my own dusty with you laughing
about you'll my poor ass ebony and navy with cane lashings
(well, right)
your pointed stick, incite your riot
I'll sell your in a bottle at profit, explain my bias
atomic box cult, spiral rapidly
to hell with hate mail, forged Christ's autograph
laughed itself, drastic
my lip
skin and bones,
bingin' on baits
mummified well inside a muddy New York
was it
your remnants my rings have cocooned prior to fading?
well, it wasn't conscious spite but it might have been

I am not friend anymore
my head dissertation(?)
narrow bed sleepers occupy the basement
and I am not your friend
come the of cerulean your pity blend that whispers in the wind

man, if it were that simple
I'd add a frame to my core
I'd board myself inside my room to trace the contour
one petal to the rug, she loves me not
crier lugging a boom box with spirit plugs
and a red radio
tied to irony like twenty burning igloos with a knot
fiddler crabs sandcastles while high tide off azalea crops
in the icicle field I portray, cats get
and ask 'why if light is dark do I continue dancing?'

why if every light is do I continue dancing?

why if every is dark do I continue dancing?

why if every light is do I continue dancing?
well if it finally a question that's worth answering

I boogie for the
for the purity, the
for my recollections
for the comic book in my
the mocked
the clarity, passion,
cool summer nights
for the mark emerging across the street selling me stog's at half
for the mights, the maybes, the nauseating
my girl, my
for the my window opens towards a brick wall
for the three legged dog I saw on a leash
for the homeless man who walks my in rainstorms with plastic bags on
his
see I throw away the over one shoulder
and walk broken glass
through wicked world to kiss tomorrow's morning
not for
drown in a pool of your crooked morals
whispering 'maybe Aesop was on to something'

maybe, no