Luyện nghe bài hát The Tugboat Complex

Oh my God
They've got angels sweatin' like
workin' little halos to the bone combing them deserts
my figure eight
defined traffic
the way my end-less-ly defined every day
one exquisite fitted rivets an octagon of red
to the above my bed
it's not a conversation piece, like spectacles
unleashed more of a
so when I wake up to the rains I'll be one ahead of you
I slide Kodakrome(?)
a poem for every planet
tracked mileage from the sun in an envelope
licked it, it
got eight thank yous in the mail, but planets means there's one left
only the earth would thank me later with a breath sunset
(man, I'm a bum)
zip that waterfall around skeleton
it to boil
loyalties, the shovel in the
dig it, I split my lip kissing the
nursed the in the sun
a hammock between spring and where the willows turn to blood
might of
sip a little, litter it, it
without big beetles to sell him sunflower seeds by the bucket
might of, tugboat for the boxcutter above ashes
without hot air balloons floatin' four passenger baskets
and I'm you
to let a captive a caption
out massive
apolster plastic with famine patches
i-dentify all saints around the fountain's warmth
and for a second of pain when removing that crown of thorns
?????,???,???, born hostile, pacifist huddled in masochist
the blame on ??? ???
my fire overlooks ghost town market place
artists bought out
then themselves to the target's face
you're me

if I had a hammer, I'd build a on stilts
so my feet stay dry when God's wine glass tilts

if I had a shovel, I'd dig a hole in the
and I'll be hiding when his drunken stupor upon earth

and if little wing is broken
I'll see the poacher in
I can't afford another in a cell
my carousel mimics the of a thousand leaking spickets
and a colony of raised to justify the grimace
(and yes I the treaty)
I prescribe the remedy plus the
my pin cushion, my limbs the knitting needle
evils, idle, peddle past the
the sleepers feed the cycles
stop, watch the eagles the little engine that could not
in a shell
and it in my lap
passin', the bail but the guard has misplaced the key ring (that's
wonderful)
I lead a flee to exact songs directly into the village
power supply the bridge between the magnet and my eye
now how many satisfy a mad man?
and how many samaritans turn plesantville to bad land?
I can my own dusty nickels with you laughing
about turn my poor ass ebony and navy with cane lashings
(well, right)
grip your pointed stick, incite your
I'll sell your worth in a bottle at profit, my bias
atomic box cult, downward spiral
cast to hell with mail, forged Christ's autograph
itself, drastic catastrophe
my lip
skin and bones,
bingin' on baits
mummified well a muddy New York minute
was it
your remnants my smoke rings have prior to fading?
well, it wasn't conscious spite but it might have that

I am not your anymore
my arrow dissertation(?)
when narrow bed sleepers occupy the
and I am not your anymore
come the of cerulean your pity blend that whispers in the wind

man, if it were only simple
I'd add a guilt to my core
I'd board myself inside my room to trace the wilting
one petal to the rug, she loves me not
town crier lugging a boom box with plugs
and a red radio
tied to irony twenty burning igloos with a sailors knot
fiddler crabs build while high tide off azalea crops
in the field I portray, cats get antsy
and ask if every light is dark do I continue dancing?'

why if every light is dark do I continue

why if every is dark do I continue dancing?

why if every light is do I continue dancing?
well if it ain't finally a question worth answering

I for the raindrops
for the purity, the
for my recollections
for the comic book in my
the mocked
the clarity, passion,
those summer nights
for the mark emerging across the selling me stog's at half price
for the mights, the maybes, the nauseating
my girl, my
for the fact my window opens towards a brick
for the three legged dog I saw dragged on a
for the man who walks my block in rainstorms with plastic bags on
his
see I throw away the tenders over one
and walk across glass
through wicked world to kiss tomorrow's morning
not for
you'll drown in a pool of your crooked
whispering Aesop Rock was on to something'

maybe, no