Luyện nghe bài hát A Louse Is Not A Home

Sometimes very scary here; sometimes it's very sad;
sometimes I think disappear; betimes I think I have.
a line snaking down my mirror :
splintered glass my face,
and though the is strong and strange
it can't the musty corners of this place.
There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic in the clouds --
I my murky meanings there,
but seven years' dark is just around the corner
and in the shadows lurks the of Despair.
A cracked mid the drapes of the landing :
split image, understanding ----
I'm only trying to find a place to my home ....
lived in houses composed of glass
where every is charted,
but now the screens are dark
and I can't if silent eyes are there.
My words are spiders the page,
spin out faith, hope and reason ----
but are they meet and just, or dust
gathering about my
Sometimes I get the that there's
someone else :
The faceless makes me uneasy,
I can him through the floorboards,
and His presence is creepy
He me that I shall be expelled ....
What is that but out of and :
I don't know the nature of the that I'd go through,
I know 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 sniff at the
and lay your body the shrine
with poems and 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 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 or a lecture?
Is it a beating at the of your Protector?
the idol have feet of clay?
Home is what you it, so my friends
all say,
but I see their homes in these dark days.
Some of them are snails and carry
on backs;
others live in which, one day,
will be --
I keep my home in place with
and tin-tacks,
but I still feel there's other Force here :
He who cracks the and moves the walls
staring through the eye-slits of the portraits
in my
He ravages my library and taps the --
never actually seen Him,
but I know in my home
and if he away,
I can't here either.
I believe -- er -- I --
well, I don't ......
I only 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 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
silence is broken :
the room is dark, and in the stark light
I can see a face I ----
this be the guy who never shows
the cracked what he's feeling,
merely mumbles prayers to the where
kneeling :
"Home is home is home is is home is home is me!"
All you people looking for houses,
don't throw your around, you might
break glasses
and if you do, you know you just see
and how are you to find the dawning
of the
--- Day is just a word I use to the dark
at bay,
and people are imaginary, else exists
the room I'm sitting in,
and, of course, the mist ---
sometimes I wonder if that's real ....
Maybe I should de-louse this
Maybe I should this louse;
Maybe I'll maybe my life
in the confines of this house.
Sometimes it's very scary here; sometimes it's sad;
sometimes I think I'll sometimes I think ..... "