Luyện nghe bài hát Tiny Streams

Morning sun the day
child has gone away
Locked inside the game that taught him all to play
city sleeping pretty tired from the day
And if he leaves the tiny light dim
He'll the dogs at bay
little brat he plays
Never puts his toys
Breaks the ones used if they don't sparkle anymore
dollies in the kissing
All their little are missing
Chop their tiny hands this thing
what daddy bought them for
Red and White's blue today
I laugh to dry the tear
Sitting in my face
This boiling webbing place
soft anger feeling shapes
Of and hands in sonic scapes
Fingers psychic burning
Black Sabbath turning
of vision, understanding
Forms absorb to keep from
Climb the walls, half inside
Other side, air is thin
inside pull me to them
Cannot from laughing, laughing
Ripples from the making contact
Center bending
echoes of each other
Float of this covered consciousness
this eggshell
Masterpieces not well spoken
Yet undertaken
Tiny streams of
Flow into this fisheye car
Leaning close to his good side
streams of orchestration