Luyện nghe bài hát The Tugboat Complex

Oh my God
They've got angels sweatin' like
workin' their little halos to the bone combing deserts
my figure eight
lifeline defined
the way my schoolin' end-less-ly defined day
one exquisite fitted crisis an octagon of red
to the above my bed
not a conversation piece, like public spectacles
unleashed of a clue
so I wake up to the rains I'll be one step ahead of you
I like Kodakrome(?)
wrote a poem for planet
tracked mileage from the sun in an envelope
licked it, it
got eight thank yous in the mail, but nine means there's one left
only the earth would thank me with a breath taking sunset
(man, I'm a bum)
zip waterfall around your skeleton
tell it to
loyalties, the shovel in the
dig it, I split my lip the winter
the blister in the sun
strung a between spring and where the willows turn to blood
of worked
sip a little, litter it, it
without big trying to sell him sunflower seeds by the bucket
might of, tugboat for the boxcutter above those
without hot air balloons floatin' four passenger baskets
and I'm you
to let a captive a caption
out massive
apolster plastic glasses famine patches
all saints linked around the fountain's warmth
and for a second taste of pain when removing that crown of
?????,???,???, born hostile, pacifist huddled in subtle
stamp the on ??? ???
my escape overlooks ghost town market place
bought out passes
then fast themselves to the face
killin' me

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

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

and if your wing is broken
I'll see the in hell
I can't afford ????? in a cell
my carousel mimics the interests of a thousand leaking
and a colony of raised to justify the grimace
(and yes I the treaty)
I the remedy plus the premises
my pin cushion, my pushin' the knitting needle
evils, idle, peddle the greeting
where the sleepers feed the
stop, watch the board the little engine that could not
in a shell
and it in my lap
passin', postin' the bail but the guard has misplaced the key (that's
wonderful)
I lead a to blaze exact songs directly into the village
supply burning the bridge between the magnet and my eye
now how many satisfy a mad man?
and how many crooked samaritans turn plesantville to bad
I can count my own dusty nickels with you
about you'll turn my poor ass ebony and navy cane lashings
(well, right)
grip your pointed stick, your riot
I'll sell your worth in a bottle at profit, explain my
atomic box cult, downward spiral
cast to hell with hate mail, forged autograph
laughed itself, catastrophe
my lip
skin and bones,
on rancid baits
mummified well inside a muddy New minute
was it
your remnants my smoke rings have cocooned to fading?
well, it wasn't spite but it might have been that

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

man, if it were that simple
I'd add a guilt frame to my
I'd board myself inside my room to trace the wilting
one petal falls to the rug, she me not
town crier lugging a boom box with spirit
and a red radio
tied to irony like twenty igloos with a sailors knot
fiddler crabs build while high tide off azalea crops
in the field I portray, cats get antsy
and ask 'why if every light is do I continue dancing?'

why if light is dark do I continue dancing?

why if every light is do I continue dancing?

why if every light is dark do I dancing?
well if it ain't finally a question that's answering

I boogie for the
for the purity, the
for my childhood
for the book in my heart
the intentions
the clarity, passion,
those summer nights
for the emerging across the street selling me stog's at half price
for the mights, the maybes, the pitfall
my girl, my
for the fact my window towards a brick wall
for the legged dog I saw dragged on a leash
for the homeless man who walks my block in rainstorms with 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
you'll in a pool of your crooked morals
'maybe Aesop Rock was on to something'

maybe, no