Luyện nghe bài hát The Tugboat Complex

Oh my God
They've got angels like Helots
workin' their halos to the bone combing them deserts
my figure eight
defined traffic
the way my schoolin' end-less-ly every day
one exquisite fitted crisis an octagon of red
to the ceiling my bed
it's not a conversation piece, like public
more of a clue
so I wake up to the rains I'll be one step ahead of you
I slide Kodakrome(?)
wrote a poem for every
their mileage from the sun in an envelope
licked it, it
got eight thank yous in the mail, but planets means there's one left
only the earth would thank me later with a taking sunset
(man, I'm a bum)
zip that waterfall around your
it to boil
loyalties, the in the soil
dig it, I my lip kissing the winter
nursed the in the sun
strung a hammock between and where the willows turn to blood
might of
sip a little, litter it, it
without big beetles trying to sell him seeds by the bucket
might of, tugboat for the boxcutter above ashes
without hot air balloons floatin' their four baskets
and I'm you
to let a captive lacerate a
splash out
apolster plastic glasses famine patches
i-dentify all saints linked the fountain's warmth
and for a second taste of pain when that crown of thorns
?????,???,???, hostile, pacifist huddled in subtle masochist
stamp the on ??? ???
my fire escape overlooks ghost market place
artists bought out
then fast themselves to the target's
killin' 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 be hiding when his drunken stupor lands upon earth

and if your wing is broken
I'll see the poacher in
I can't afford ????? in a cell
my carousel mimics the interests of a thousand spickets
and a colony of graziers raised to the grimace
(and yes I the treaty)
I prescribe the remedy plus the
my pin cushion, my limbs the knitting needle
evils, idle, peddle the greeting
where the feed the cycles
stop, watch the eagles board the little engine could not
ghost in a
and it in my lap
passin', postin' the bail but the has misplaced the key ring (that's
wonderful)
I lead a to blaze exact songs directly into the village
power supply burning the bridge between the and my eye
now how many cadavers 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 with lashings
(well, right)
grip your pointed stick, incite your
I'll sell your in a bottle at profit, explain my bias
atomic box cult, downward rapidly
cast to hell with hate mail, forged autograph
laughed itself, catastrophe
my lip
skin and bones,
bingin' on rancid
mummified well inside a muddy New York
was it
your remnants my smoke have cocooned prior to fading?
well, it wasn't conscious but it might have been that

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

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

why if every light is dark do I dancing?

why if every light is dark do I dancing?

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

I boogie for the
for the purity, the
for my childhood
for the comic in my heart
the intentions
the clarity, passion,
those summer nights
for the mark emerging the street selling me stog's at half price
for the mights, the maybes, the pitfall
my girl, my
for the my window opens towards a brick wall
for the three legged dog I saw dragged on a
for the homeless man who walks my in rainstorms with plastic bags on
his
see I throw the tenders over one shoulder
and walk across broken
through every wicked world to kiss morning
not for
you'll drown in a of your crooked morals
whispering 'maybe Rock was on to something'

maybe, no