Luyện nghe bài hát A Louse Is Not A Home

Sometimes it's very scary here; it's very sad;
sometimes I I'll disappear; betimes I think I have.
There's a snaking down my mirror :
splintered distorts my face,
and though the light is strong and
it can't illuminate the corners of this place.
There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic castle in the --
I draw my murky there,
but seven years' dark is just around 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 trying to find a place to hide my ....
lived in houses composed of glass
where every is charted,
but now the screens are dark
and I can't tell if silent are there.
My words are spiders the page,
they out faith, hope and reason ----
but are they and just, or only dust
gathering about my
Sometimes I get the that there's
someone there :
The watcher makes me uneasy,
I can feel him the floorboards,
and His presence is creepy
He informs me I shall be expelled ....
What is but out of and into :
I don't the nature of the door that I'd go through,
I know the nature of the nature
that I am ....
I've lived in houses of and lead
all emotion is sacred,
and if you to devour the fruit
you must first at the fragrance
and lay body before the shrine
with and posies and papers ----
or, if you spot the ruse, you'll have to
to stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant.
What is this place you home?
Is it a or a confession?
Is it the that you use for protection?
Is it really somewhere 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 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 live in which, one day,
be racks --
I my home in place with sellotape
and tin-tacks,
but I still feel there's other Force here :
He who cracks the and moves the walls
keeps staring the eye-slits of the portraits
in my
He ravages my library and 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 know ......
I only live in one at a time,
but all of the walls are ears, all the windows, :
else is foreign,
'Home' is my wordless :
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 my head
unearthly is broken :
the is growing dark, and in the stark light
I can see a face I know
could this be the guy who shows
the cracked mirror what feeling,
merely prayers to the ground where
kneeling :
"Home is is home is home is home is home is me!"
All you people looking for houses,
don't your weight around, you might
break your
and if you do, you know you can't see
and how are you to find the dawning
of the
--- Day is a word I use to keep the dark
at bay,
and people are imaginary, else exists
except the I'm sitting in,
and, of course, the mist ---
sometimes I wonder if that's real ....
Maybe I should this place;
Maybe I should this louse;
Maybe I'll maybe my life
in the of this silent house.
Sometimes it's very scary sometimes it's very sad;
sometimes I think I'll disappear; sometimes I ..... "