Luyện nghe bài hát Waiting Room

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

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

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

The silence
like a earthquake shattering the calm - it's my name.
The familiar of sterile instruments
filters out inside the hallway.

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

Well there's nothing to say.
The word's collapse into
colorful waves in the spectrum of
and it's on the ears
and it's to hear
but it mean a thing.
No it mean,
No it mean,
No it doesn't a thing.

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