Luyện nghe bài hát Wall Purges Night

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

Another place. A story. Fingers play with stale 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 for mercy if the victim's out of sight.

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

In higher places, chime for the meeting of the lords. They stay
discreet as guilty cause no shame behind closed doors. A portion for
the megabomb. A for the queen... can't forget the army or the law
'cos they have to the cities clean. And sure they know they'll get
way as protests echo from the streets. (The blood is thicker from the
streets) His hired guns and sheets of armor gives them shelter the
heat! The fodder...

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

Don't kid yourself. civilized - it could happen anywhere.
In choking cities, jungles... maybe even here.