Luyện nghe bài hát Color My World Mine

I met a man who trained himself not to dream
What he seems to have seen was a glimpse of
He's painting pictures on canvas since age thirteen
And claims he only exists in the mind of a being
And I enjoy his work; scenic landscapes
But each one is on an easel where the man paints himself painting himself
And all that's in his field
He said this was the only way he make himself real
since he could remember, he had one nightmare reoccur
But about ten years ago, it didn't matter
It consisted of loud, distorted sounds echoing off the
He ran on top of it in to reach a ladder
Now sometimes, he'd get so close but touch his destination
Which him much frustration 'cause he didn't know what it meant
And by the end of the dream, he saw the scene from a eye
Only to witness his dead body laying on the

It was only to witness his dead laying on the cement
At first it freaked him out, but a while he grew content
So he thought, "It's a dream," and kept living his life
Writing his soul on the canvas 'cause it sheds his planet
And it on and on like space and time, ain't nothing odd
not that he didn't believe, he just didn't approve of God
His experience was one I couldn't
I stopped being detective and listened to him as a friend
He

He once saw a painting that told his whole story
It was that he knew he was the art of divinity
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
A brush stroke of the gods made him one in their symphony
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
He spoke for himself and not the of humanity
He saw a painting that told his whole life story
And I that I'm not real
God imagined me

like I said
About ten ago, the event that changed his whole reality
Took place on his monthly to the local art gallery
It was there where he his contemporaries
And there where he nearly his sanity to a hole and buried it forever
It was a mysterious day
The place was empty
And he got chills down his spine just being in the scene
On the wall, there was a that looked familiar
And when he got close, his heart
he saw it was a painting of his dream
It was a of his dream
His body on a
By a ladder to an airplane with its propellers
Which accounted for the loud
The up was perfect
And was the day he stopped believing in existing
He his creator
I mean, words can't
What must have went on in his while he stared into a frame
Of a work of art which he and was at the same time
The mind can't that much, it's just insane
It's like reading a book where words describe your thoughts
And in quotations, it whatever you say when you talk
You it can't happen
But it did
I guess there's wide cracks in each life's sidewalk
He upon an answer when he never had a question
And decided to stop dreaming to maintain his health
Now he talks to people
stays in his basement
Writing infinity, by himself
himself
This is a strange
Is it all a blueprint?
In the real universe, is my useless?
Are we something a higher intelligence made up?
A figment of imagination colored by a paintbrush?
Maybe all of our art creates the fate of beings
Then character in ever novel thinks it's alive and were just gods
Ruling
a theory
I don't know it means
But that's the story of the man who trained himself not to

He once saw a that told his whole life story
He the paradox of the word "existing"
He saw a painting that told his whole life story
He colored his world theirs, and concluded he living
He once saw a painting that told his whole story
The variable that all that is is art
And when I close my eyes, I see eternity as a
A God imagined the God that me
And I am God
And so on