Luyện nghe bài hát Wall Purges Night

Right hand raised. The left plants stickers - out the deviant. A
choice of colours, inclinations, factions see only red. He wants them
dead. He kills them in his mirror when it's dark... And when he that
no-one is he spreads the spraypaint and leaves his mark. Swastikas
shout out from walls, they're tattooed on a million fists.
together, in numbers... waving from the precipice. Fodder! Plod on
down your icy path... A cannon is waiting for the fodder.
with a blast. A bang. A bangabangabang...

Another place. A different story. Fingers play with stale cigars.
creeks, the leaks, the chairman sold his daughter's car. He's
reading charts and sharpening knives for cutting when the time seems -
for him alone. No pause for if the victim's out of sight.

Equality is a word for to shout out as the batons swing. It's
beautiful in theory... he it's not for him. He's got his fodder!

In higher places, clocks chime for the meeting of the lords. stay
discreet as guilty secrets cause no shame behind doors. A portion for
the megabomb. A portion for the queen... forget the army or the law
'cos they have to keep the cities clean. And sure know they'll get
their way as protests echo from the streets. (The is thicker from the
streets) His hired guns and sheets of armor gives them through the
heat! The fodder...

But there are other bullets, walls, where justice cries in shiny red.
Where dies and passion burns persuasion's just a hole in the head.
Purges midnight... There's no discretion in the mass. A volley. A
as they cover up the mess.

Don't kid yourself. You're - it could happen anywhere.
In choking cities, steaming jungles... even here.