Luyện nghe bài hát A Louse Is Not A Home

Sometimes it's very scary sometimes it's very sad;
sometimes I think I'll disappear; betimes I I have.
There's a line snaking 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, castle in the clouds --
I draw my murky there,
but seven years' dark luck is just around the
and in the shadows lurks the of Despair.
A cracked mirror mid the drapes of the :
split image, labored ----
I'm trying to find a place to hide my home ....
lived in houses composed of glass
where movement is charted,
but now the screens are dark
and I can't tell if eyes are there.
My words are spiders the page,
they spin out faith, and reason ----
but are they meet and just, or dust
gathering about my
Sometimes I get the feeling there's
someone else :
The watcher makes me uneasy,
I can him through the floorboards,
and His is creepy ----
He informs me I shall be expelled ....
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 in houses of brick and lead
where all is sacred,
and if you want to devour the
you must first at the fragrance
and lay your before the shrine
poems and posies and papers ----
or, if you spot the ruse, 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 beating at the hands of your
Does the idol have feet of
Home is what you make it, so my
all say,
but I rarely see their in these dark days.
of them are snails and carry houses
on backs;
others in monuments which, one day,
be racks --
I keep my home in place with
and tin-tacks,
but I still feel there's some 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 --
I've actually seen Him,
but I know in my home
and if he away,
I stay here either.
I believe -- er -- I --
well, I don't ......
I only live in one at a time,
but all of the walls are ears, all the windows, :
Everything is foreign,
is my wordless 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 boning out a to be.
With garlands about my head
unearthly is broken :
the room is growing dark, and in the light
I can see a I know ----
could this be the guy who never
the mirror what he's feeling,
merely mumbles prayers to the where
he's :
"Home is home is home is is home is home is me!"
All you people looking for houses,
don't throw your weight around, you
break 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, nothing else
except the room I'm in,
and, of course, the all-pervading ---
I wonder if even that's real ....
Maybe I should this place;
Maybe I should de-place louse;
Maybe maybe my life away
in the of this silent house.
it's very scary here; sometimes it's very sad;
sometimes I think I'll disappear; sometimes I ..... "