Luyện nghe bài hát Garbage

The ritual goes, same different visual.

Wing of wax, or wing of gold
one. Float or plummet 20 thousand cold legues
My nourishment's provided in the
So I wonder
How y'all dreams when what's tangible still outruns ya
Hail dirty doll performance
Warm as the march of a billion torches forward to burn what I at
Cut and paste alertness to current set is provided
Shimmy the pirate ship mast, bat the at the siren in her bow (?)
Facing, let's salute the embrace pertinent generals who turned innocent to burning spectacles.
Flirtin' with a workin' overtime
Drain the battery, siphon the poison and flood his hatchery.
I was riding on the yellow bus to where the thickens.
Yeah, an it ain't plush pickin's
I'd rather take the time to burn every last bridge I've ever beneath the sun
Than live my knowin' you may one day follow me over one.
bite
Breath too to hold.
Caught up in the wake of the red witch to swim it.
Ran for the sake of dead click stripped of idealic
Steal a earth meal feed my pottery wheel to model collossal vision
Thrill, shrunken a bucket of pennies
I'ma drag my through the dirt like alligator bellies
the cloud burst
Honour and a thirst submersed in a trap
Little boy verse' thunderclap

In a of garbage, tryin' to reap the harvest
Adaption is the trap in which the artist meets the
Swing your axe or be an oak tree if you can
Either way, adapt to or play you final hand.

No enigma, an attempt to bury the
Rendered me victim of deviltry wounded like stigmatics
Somethin's somethin
I smell an inch of in this mornin's pollution pistons and how the loose ends drift in
My sour (?) institutions slipped in admidst the invaders and,
my tone but,
This garden's grown acres since my visit.
Itchin' to count the layers in the blizzard to that where my family inserts the dagger and twists it.
It's the carnival, have you any sweets for my kin
It's the carnival, you any feed for my cheery grin
It's the carnival, welcome, play our games you'll win
Coz it's that carnival where every freak spectacle's your friend.
An' I'm a,
Ghostly galleon, tossed cloudy seas
Antifreeze to glacier cookin' a of fiery nature
the,
Ceilin' feelin' too heavy to bless the I-beams for a more collapse (I left sorry) that to your door.
Bitchin' my back to kitchen, back
Burnin' murder machinery, regardless of the pardons
Hitchin my life to the leash of one
Sick of window different visual
Same agnostic hostage ritual
Play, coopertive supercolony clash (I heard we have a dust - let me see it)
Ooh, I this underdog verse forced adaption to the marbles of the now
then my knuckles haven't once dragged on the ground.

In a city of garbage, to reap the harvest
Adaption is the in which the artist meets the forest
Swing your axe or be an oak tree if you can
Either way, adapt to circumstance or play you hand.

The ritual goes, window different visual.
The ritual is fucken' window different visual.