Luyện nghe bài hát Tiny Streams

Morning sun the day
Mothers has gone away
Locked the game that they taught him all to play
Closet city sleeping pretty tired the day
And if he leaves the porch light dim
He'll the dogs at bay
little brat he plays
Never puts his toys
the ones he's used if they don't sparkle anymore
dollies in the playhouse
All their heads are missing
Chop their tiny hands with this
That's what bought them for
Red and turned blue today
I to dry the tear away
in my ceilings face
This boiling rainbow webbing
soft anger feeling shapes
Of and hands in sonic scapes
spanning psychic burning
Black Sabbath turning
of vision, understanding
Forms absorb to keep laughing
Climb the walls, inside them
side, air is thin there
Friends inside pull me to
Cannot keep laughing, laughing
Ripples the portholes making contact
Center circles
Growing echoes of each
Float of this covered consciousness
Inside eggshell
Masterpieces scattered not spoken
Yet still
streams of orchestration
Flow into fisheye car ride
Leaning close to catch his good
streams of orchestration