Luyện nghe bài hát A Louse Is Not A Home

Sometimes it's very scary here; it's very sad;
sometimes I think I'll betimes I think I have.
There's a snaking down my mirror :
splintered glass my face,
and though the light is and strange
it can't illuminate the musty corners of place.
is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic castle in the clouds --
I draw my murky there,
but seven dark luck is just around the corner
and in the shadows the spectre of Despair.
A cracked mid the drapes of the landing :
split image, labored understanding
I'm only trying to a place to hide my home ....
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,
spin out faith, hope and reason ----
but are they and just, or only dust
gathering about my
Sometimes I get the feeling that
someone there :
The watcher makes me uneasy,
I can feel him the floorboards,
and His is creepy ----
He informs me I shall be expelled ....
is that but out of and into :
I don't know the of the door that I'd go through,
I know the nature of the nature
I am inside ....
I've lived in houses of and lead
where all is sacred,
and if you want to the fruit
you must first at the fragrance
and lay your body the shrine
with poems and posies and papers
or, if you spot the ruse, you'll to choose
to stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant.
is this place you call home?
Is it a sermon or a
Is it the chalice that you use for
Is it really only somewhere you can
Is it a rule-book or a
Is it a beating at the hands of your
the idol have feet of clay?
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,
will be --
I keep my home in place sellotape
and tin-tacks,
but I still feel some other Force here :
He who the mirrors and moves the walls
keeps through the eye-slits of the portraits
in my
He ravages my library and taps the --
I've never 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 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 boning out a to be.
With secret garlands about my
unearthly silence is :
the room is growing dark, and in the stark
I can see a face I ----
could be the guy who never shows
the cracked mirror 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 people for your 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 just a word I use to the dark
at bay,
and people are imaginary, nothing exists
except the room I'm in,
and, of course, the all-pervading ---
sometimes I if even that's real ....
Maybe I de-louse this place;
Maybe I should de-place louse;
I'll maybe my life away
in the confines of silent house.
it's very scary here; sometimes it's very sad;
sometimes I think I'll disappear; I think ..... "