Luyện nghe bài hát Waiting Room

in line,
passing the time reading month old magazines.
The pale walls given life by the lights,
exposing in the carpeting.

And sitting at my side this of life:
a plastic plant strictly for decor.
No one makes a
but the seeping through the space between the door and the floor.

there's nothing left to say.
The word's just into
waves in the spectrum of sound
and easy on the ears
and it's to hear
but it doesn't a thing.
No it mean a thing.

The silence
like a small earthquake shattering the - it's my name.
The scent of sterile instruments
filters out from the hallway.

Your chin falls towards your lap, you know you can't back
one more thing to make this a little bit harder.
You'll for the turn out.
Until then a sense of doubt hangs in the air grief in a funeral parlor.

Well there's nothing to say.
The word's just into
colorful waves in the of sound
and easy on the ears
and it's to hear
but it mean a thing.
No it mean,
No it mean,
No it mean a thing.

So tell me I'm okay no areas of gray.
Tell me I can go, just don't say you know,
because there's nothing I take like these areas of gray,
so me I'm okay.