Luyện nghe bài hát Wall Purges Night

Right hand raised. The left plants - picking out the deviant. A
choice of colours, inclinations, factions see only red. He wants them
dead. He kills them in his when it's dark... And when he thinks that
is looking he spreads the spraypaint and leaves his mark. Swastikas
shout out from walls, they're tattooed on a million fists.
together, safe in numbers... waving from the precipice. Fodder! on
down your icy path... A cannon is for the fodder. Enlightenment
with a blast. A bang. A bangabangabang...

Another place. A story. Fingers play with stale cigars. Business
creeks, the leaks, the chairman sold his daughter's car. He's
reading charts and knives for cutting when the time seems right -
for him alone. No pause for if the victim's 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 higher places, clocks chime for the meeting of the lords. They
discreet as guilty secrets cause no behind closed doors. A portion for
the megabomb. A portion for the queen... forget the army or the law
'cos they have to keep the clean. And sure they know they'll get
their way as protests echo from the streets. (The blood is from the
streets) His hired guns and sheets of armor gives them shelter the
heat! The fodder...

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

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