Luyện nghe bài hát Tiny Streams

Morning sun the day
Mothers child has away
Locked inside the game that they him all to play
Closet city pretty tired from the day
And if he the tiny porch light dim
keep the dogs at bay
Snotty little brat he
Never his toys away
Breaks the ones he's used if don't sparkle anymore
dollies in the playhouse
All their little are missing
Chop their tiny hands with this
what daddy bought them for
Red and White's turned blue
I laugh to dry the tear
Sitting in my face
This boiling webbing place
soft anger feeling shapes
Of mouths and in sonic scapes
Fingers psychic burning
Black Sabbath turning
of vision, understanding
Forms absorb to keep from
Climb the walls, inside them
Other side, air is there
Friends inside me to them
Cannot keep from laughing,
from the portholes making contact
Center circles
Growing of each other
Float of this covered consciousness
this eggshell
Masterpieces scattered not well
Yet still
streams of orchestration
Flow into this fisheye car
Leaning close to catch his side
Tiny streams of