Luyện nghe bài hát A Louse Is Not A Home

Sometimes it's very scary here; sometimes very sad;
sometimes I think I'll betimes I think I have.
There's a line snaking down my :
splintered glass my face,
and though the light is strong and
it can't illuminate the musty corners of place.
There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic in the clouds --
I draw my murky there,
but seven years' dark luck is just the corner
and in the shadows lurks the of Despair.
A cracked mirror mid the of the landing :
split image, understanding ----
I'm only trying to a place to hide my home ....
I've lived in houses composed of
where movement is charted,
but now the monitor screens are
and I tell if silent eyes are there.
My words are upon the page,
they spin out faith, hope and ----
but are they meet and just, or only
about my chair?
Sometimes I get the feeling there's
else there :
The faceless watcher me uneasy,
I can him through the floorboards,
and His presence is creepy
He informs me I shall be expelled ....
is that but out of and into :
I don't know the nature of the door I'd go through,
I don't the nature of the nature
I am inside ....
I've lived in of brick and lead
all emotion is sacred,
and if you to devour the fruit
you first sniff at the fragrance
and lay your body before the
with and posies and papers ----
or, if you spot the ruse, have to choose
to stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant.
is this place you call home?
Is it a sermon or a
Is it the chalice that you use for
Is it really only you can stay?
Is it a or a lecture?
Is it a beating at the of your Protector?
Does the idol have feet of
is what you make it, so my friends
all say,
but I rarely see their homes in these days.
Some of them are snails and houses
on backs;
others in monuments which, one day,
will be --
I keep my home in place sellotape
and tin-tacks,
but I still feel there's some other here :
He who cracks the and moves the walls
staring through the eye-slits of the portraits
in my
He ravages my and taps the telephone --
I've never seen Him,
but I know He's in my
and if he away,
I can't stay either.
I -- er -- I think --
well, I don't ......
I only live in one at a time,
but all of the are ears, all the windows, eyes :
Everything is foreign,
'Home' is my chant :
mmmmmaah!
it a chance!
I am surrounded by and bone,
I am a of living,
I am a hermit, I am a drone,
and I am boning out a to be.
With secret garlands about my
unearthly silence is :
the is growing dark, and in the stark light
I can see a I know ----
this be the guy who never shows
the cracked mirror he's feeling,
merely mumbles to the ground where
he's :
"Home is home is home is is home is home is me!"
All you looking for your houses,
don't throw your weight around, you
your glasses
and if you do, you you just can't see
and then how are you to the dawning
of the
--- Day is just a I use to keep the dark
at bay,
and people are imaginary, nothing else
the room I'm sitting in,
and, of course, the all-pervading ---
sometimes I wonder if that's real ....
Maybe I should this place;
Maybe I should de-place this
Maybe I'll my life away
in the confines of silent house.
Sometimes it's very scary sometimes it's very sad;
sometimes I I'll disappear; sometimes I think ..... "