Luyện nghe bài hát Fugazi

Vodka intimate, an affair isolation in a Blackheath cell
the fires in a private hell
Provoking the heartache to the license
Of a heart poet in a fragile capsule

Propping up the crust of the conscience
Wrapped in the shard of a hangover
Baptized in from the real, tears from the real

Drowning in the liquid seas on the line, rat-race
Scuttling through the damp electric
(Caress Ophelia's hand breaststroke ambition)
(An albatross in the time tradition)

Sheathed with the Walkman wear the of distortion
Aural aborting pregnant conversation
(She the harpoon and it pierced my heart)
(She hung herself my neck)

From the guardians in their conscience bubbles
and dry in my sea of troubles
Nine to fives, with ties

Cast adrift as their
(Sideshow)

(Peepshow)
Stereo hero becalm, be still,
Drowning, drowning in the

The of Baghdad hides in Islington now
Praying deportation for his cow
A legacy of romance from a world
The of a relative mystery girl

A Vietnamese flower, a union
A mistress of from a magazine's thighs
Magdalene's more than favors
The feeding hands of western hold her by the throat

A son of the Swastika of '45, parading a standard
disciples conjure testaments of hatred
Aerosol wands where the searchlights
the barbed wire hedges, this is Brixton chess

A knight for embankments folds his castle
A of habit, begs the boatman's coin
He'll fade with old in the grease stained roll call
And linger the heartburn of Good Friday's last supper

Son watches father scan obituary
In search of school friends
While his digests high fiber ignorance
Cowering behind curtains and the taped up, painted

genocide
Provided door to door
Pandora's box of
Gracefully cruising satellite heavens

Waiting, waiting the season of the
The migration
Radioactive perfumes for the
For the terminally insane,

you realize
Do-do-do you
you realize
This is totally fugazi

Where are the prophets, where are the
Where are the poets to breach the dawn of the sentimental
Where are the prophets, where are the
Where are the poets to breach the of the sentimental mercenary?
Where are the prophets, are the visionaries?
Where are the poets to breach the dawn of the sentimental

Where are the