Luyện nghe bài hát The Tugboat Complex

Oh my God
They've got sweatin' like Helots
workin' their little halos to the combing them deserts
my figure eight
defined traffic
the way my schoolin' end-less-ly defined day
one exquisite fitted crisis rivets an of red
to the ceiling my bed
it's not a piece, like public spectacles
unleashed of a clue
so when I wake up to the rains I'll be one step of you
I like Kodakrome(?)
wrote a poem for planet
tracked their mileage the sun in an envelope
it, stamped it
got eight yous in the mail, but nine planets means there's one left
only the earth would me later with a breath taking sunset
(man, I'm a bum)
zip that 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 hammock between spring and where the willows turn to
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' their four baskets
and I'm you
to let a lacerate a caption
out massive
apolster plastic glasses famine patches
i-dentify all saints around the fountain's warmth
and for a second taste of when removing that crown of thorns
?????,???,???, hostile, pacifist huddled in subtle masochist
the blame on ??? ???
my escape overlooks ghost town market place
artists out passes
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 I'll be hiding when his stupor lands upon earth

and if little wing is broken
I'll see the poacher in
I can't afford ????? in a cell
my carousel the interests of a thousand leaking spickets
and a colony of graziers raised to justify the
(and yes I the treaty)
I prescribe the plus the premises
my pin cushion, my pushin' the knitting needle
evils, idle, past the greeting
where the sleepers the cycles
stop, watch the board the little engine that could not
ghost in a
and it in my lap
passin', postin' the bail but the guard has misplaced the key (that's
wonderful)
I lead a flee to exact songs directly into the village
power burning the bridge between the magnet and my eye
now how many cadavers satisfy a mad
and how many crooked samaritans turn to bad land?
I can count my own nickels with you laughing
about you'll turn my poor ass ebony and navy cane lashings
(well, right)
your pointed stick, incite your riot
I'll sell your worth in a bottle at profit, my bias
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 inside a muddy New York minute
was it
your remnants my smoke rings have prior to fading?
well, it wasn't conscious spite but it might have that

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

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

why if every is dark do I continue dancing?

why if every light is 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,
those cool summer
for the mark emerging across the street selling me stog's at 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 man who walks my block 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
you'll drown in a pool of your crooked
whispering 'maybe Rock was on to something'

maybe, no