Luyện nghe bài hát Anyway

Empires crumble in the
Violet crumble [Brian: it's a kind of bar] in my bowl
Theory, Timothy Leary
None of this is for my soul
extravaganza
What if I sing Mario Lanza ?

in my own way
I don't make any more
It's so hard to
One break
and cake

Young Master Morris had a closet in the
But where were the when he let down his hair
Pieces of ice over the windscreen
Look out Wonderland we're through the black screen

in my own way
I don't make sense any
It's so hard to
One lucky
and cake

(....inaudible mutterings...)

Millions of are lost in the rumours
Overhead the weather (.....) along their
Fighting real fires the rabbis and the friars
The butcher, the baker, the maker

(...more mutterings...)

You that all of them are users
of them are takers
Making Sunday music with their tom-toms and shakers

in my own way
I don't make sense any
so hard to fake
One lucky
and cake

(..........)

in my own way
I don't make sense any