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 betimes I think I have.
a line snaking down my mirror :
splintered distorts my face,
and though the light is and strange
it can't the musty corners of this place.
There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic in the clouds --
I draw my murky there,
but seven dark luck is just around the corner
and in the lurks the spectre of Despair.
A cracked mid the drapes of the landing :
split image, labored ----
I'm only trying to find a place to hide my ....
I've lived in composed of glass
where movement is charted,
but now the screens are dark
and I can't tell if silent are there.
My words are upon the page,
they spin out faith, hope and reason
but are they and just, or only dust
gathering about my
Sometimes I get the feeling there's
else there :
The faceless makes me uneasy,
I can feel him the floorboards,
and His is creepy ----
He informs me that I shall be ....
What is but out of and into :
I don't know the nature of the 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 want to the fruit
you must first sniff at the
and lay your before the shrine
with poems and and papers ----
or, if you spot the ruse, you'll have to
to stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant.
What is this you call home?
Is it a or a confession?
Is it the chalice you use for protection?
Is it only somewhere you can stay?
Is it a rule-book or a
Is it a at the hands of your Protector?
Does the have feet of clay?
Home is what you it, so my friends
all say,
but I rarely see homes in these dark days.
Some of are snails and carry houses
on their
others live in which, one day,
be racks --
I keep my home in with sellotape
and tin-tacks,
but I still feel there's some Force here :
He who cracks the mirrors and moves the
keeps staring through the eye-slits of the
in my
He my library and taps the telephone --
I've never actually Him,
but I know He's in my
and if he away,
I can't here 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, :
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
unearthly is broken :
the room is dark, and in the stark light
I can see a I know ----
this be the guy who never shows
the mirror what he's feeling,
merely prayers to the ground where
kneeling :
"Home is home is is home is home is home is me!"
All you people looking for houses,
don't your weight around, you might
your glasses
and if you do, you know you can't see
and then how are you to the dawning
of the
--- Day is just a word I use to the dark
at bay,
and are imaginary, nothing else exists
except the I'm sitting in,
and, of course, the mist ---
sometimes I if even that's real ....
Maybe I should de-louse place;
Maybe I should de-place this
Maybe I'll maybe my life
in the confines of this house.
Sometimes it's very scary here; it's very sad;
sometimes I think disappear; sometimes I think ..... "