Luyện nghe bài hát Tiny Streams

Morning sun the day
Mothers child has gone
Locked the game that they taught him all to play
Closet city pretty tired from the day
And if he leaves the tiny porch dim
He'll keep the at bay
little brat he plays
Never puts his toys
Breaks the ones he's used if they don't sparkle
dollies in the kissing
All their heads are missing
Chop their tiny hands with this
what daddy bought them for
Red and White's turned today
I laugh to dry the away
Sitting in my ceilings
This boiling rainbow place
Smiles soft anger shapes
Of mouths and in sonic scapes
Fingers spanning burning
Black Sabbath turning
Pools of vision,
Forms absorb to from laughing
Climb the walls, half inside
Other side, air is thin
inside pull me to them
Cannot keep from laughing,
from the portholes making contact
Center bending
Growing echoes of each
Float reflections of this consciousness
Inside eggshell
scattered not well spoken
Yet undertaken
streams of orchestration
Flow this fisheye car ride
close to catch his good side
Tiny of orchestration