Luyện nghe bài hát This Charade Has Lasted Well Past The Curtains Fall

It's curtains for universality, the applause has away, and with that damp musty smell, we're left staring at days, hours, weeks, of irreductible silence stale.
The record skips repeating itself again. Broken. The skips... it's sunday afternoon and we're left with the wind blowing through the cancer-ridden heart of this ghost town.
The parade's over, gone home.
The record skips, the record skips, the skips.