Luyện nghe bài hát A Louse Is Not A Home

Sometimes very scary here; sometimes it's very sad;
sometimes I think I'll betimes I think I have.
There's a line snaking my mirror :
splintered glass my face,
and though the is strong and strange
it can't illuminate the musty of this place.
There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic castle in the --
I draw my meanings there,
but seven dark luck is just around the corner
and in the shadows lurks the of Despair.
A mirror mid the drapes of the landing :
split image, labored ----
I'm trying to find a place to hide my home ....
lived in houses composed of glass
where every is charted,
but now the monitor are dark
and I can't if silent eyes are there.
My words are upon the page,
they out faith, hope and reason ----
but are meet and just, or only dust
about my chair?
Sometimes I get the feeling that
someone else :
The watcher makes me uneasy,
I can him through the floorboards,
and His presence is ----
He informs me that I shall be ....
What is that but out of and :
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 houses of and lead
all emotion is sacred,
and if you to devour the fruit
you must sniff at the fragrance
and lay your before the shrine
with poems and posies and ----
or, if you spot the ruse, have to choose
to stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant.
What is place you call home?
Is it a or a confession?
Is it the chalice you use for protection?
Is it really only you can stay?
Is it a rule-book or a
Is it a beating at the hands of your
Does the idol have feet of
Home is what you make it, so my
all say,
but I see their homes in these dark days.
of them are snails and carry houses
on their
others in monuments which, one day,
will be --
I keep my in place with sellotape
and tin-tacks,
but I feel there's some other Force here :
He who the mirrors and moves the walls
staring through the eye-slits of the portraits
in my
He my library 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 believe -- er -- I --
well, I don't ......
I live in one room at a time,
but all of the walls are ears, all the windows, :
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 about my head
unearthly is broken :
the room is growing dark, and in the stark
I can see a I know ----
could be the guy who never shows
the mirror what he's feeling,
merely mumbles to the ground where
he's :
"Home is home is is home is home is home is me!"
All you people for your houses,
don't throw weight around, you might
break your
and if you do, you know you 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 exists
except the I'm sitting in,
and, of course, the all-pervading ---
sometimes I wonder if even that's ....
Maybe I de-louse this place;
Maybe I should de-place this
Maybe maybe my life away
in the of this silent house.
Sometimes it's very scary here; it's very sad;
I think I'll disappear; sometimes I think ..... "