Luyện nghe bài hát Wall Purges Night

Right hand raised. The left plants stickers - out the deviant. A
choice of colours, inclinations, that see only red. He wants them
dead. He kills them in his when it's dark... And when he thinks that
no-one is he spreads the spraypaint and leaves his mark. Swastikas
shout out from walls, tattooed on a million fists. Clenched
together, safe in numbers... waving 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 cigars. Business
creeks, the warehouse leaks, the sold his daughter's car. He's
reading charts and knives for cutting when the time seems right -
for him alone. No pause for mercy if the out of sight.

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

In places, clocks chime for the meeting of the lords. They stay
discreet as guilty cause no shame behind closed doors. A portion for
the megabomb. A portion for the queen... can't forget the or the law
'cos have to keep the cities clean. And sure they 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 shelter through the
heat! The fodder...

But there are other bullets, other walls, 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 civilized - it happen anywhere.
In cities, steaming jungles... maybe even here.