Luyện nghe bài hát A Louse Is Not A Home

Sometimes it's very scary here; sometimes it's sad;
sometimes I think disappear; betimes I think I have.
There's a line snaking my mirror :
splintered glass my face,
and the light is strong and strange
it illuminate the musty corners of this place.
There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic in the clouds --
I my murky meanings there,
but seven years' dark luck is just the corner
and in the shadows the spectre of Despair.
A mirror mid the drapes of the landing :
split image, labored understanding
I'm only to find a place to hide my home ....
I've in houses composed of glass
where movement is charted,
but now the monitor screens are
and I tell if silent eyes are there.
My words are spiders the page,
they out faith, hope and reason ----
but are they meet and just, or only
about my chair?
Sometimes I get the feeling that
someone there :
The watcher makes me uneasy,
I can him through the floorboards,
and His is creepy ----
He informs me that I be expelled ....
What is but out of and into :
I know the nature of the door that I'd go through,
I don't the nature of the nature
I am inside ....
I've in houses of brick and lead
where all is sacred,
and if you to devour the fruit
you must first at the fragrance
and lay your before the shrine
with poems and posies and papers
or, if you the ruse, you'll have to choose
to stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant.
What is this place you call
Is it a sermon or a
Is it the that you use for protection?
Is it only somewhere you can stay?
Is it a or a lecture?
Is it a at the hands of your Protector?
Does the idol feet of clay?
Home is what you it, so my friends
all say,
but I rarely see their in these dark days.
Some of them are snails and carry
on backs;
others live in which, one day,
be racks --
I keep my in place with sellotape
and tin-tacks,
but I still feel there's some Force here :
He who cracks the and moves the walls
keeps staring through the eye-slits of the
in my
He ravages my library and taps the --
I've never actually Him,
but I know He's in my
and if he away,
I can't here either.
I -- er -- I think --
well, I don't ......
I only in one room at a time,
but all of the are ears, all the windows, eyes :
Everything is foreign,
'Home' is my wordless :
mmmmmaah!
it a chance!
I am by flesh and bone,
I am a of living,
I am a hermit, I am a drone,
and I am out a place to be.
With secret about my head
unearthly silence is :
the room is growing dark, and in the light
I can see a face I ----
could this be the guy who shows
the cracked what he's feeling,
merely mumbles prayers to the ground
he's :
"Home is is home is home 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 know you just see
and then how are you to the dawning
of the
--- Day is a word I use to keep the dark
at bay,
and people are imaginary, else exists
the room I'm sitting in,
and, of course, the mist ---
sometimes I if even that's real ....
I should de-louse this place;
Maybe I should this louse;
Maybe maybe my life away
in the confines of silent house.
Sometimes very scary here; sometimes it's very sad;
sometimes I I'll disappear; sometimes I think ..... "