Luyện nghe bài hát Wall Purges Night

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

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

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

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

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

kid yourself. You're civilized - it could happen anywhere.
In choking cities, steaming jungles... maybe here.