Luyện nghe bài hát A Louse Is Not A Home

Sometimes it's scary here; sometimes it's very sad;
I think I'll disappear; betimes I think I have.
There's a line down my mirror :
splintered glass my face,
and though the light is and strange
it can't illuminate the musty corners of 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 mid the drapes of the landing :
image, labored understanding ----
I'm only trying to find a place to hide my ....
I've in houses 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,
spin out faith, hope and reason ----
but are they meet and just, or dust
about my chair?
Sometimes I get the feeling there's
someone else :
The faceless makes me uneasy,
I can feel him the floorboards,
and His is creepy ----
He informs me that I shall be ....
What is that but out of and :
I don't know the nature of the that I'd go through,
I don't know the of the nature
I am inside ....
I've lived in houses of brick and
all emotion is sacred,
and if you to devour the fruit
you must first sniff at the
and lay body before the shrine
with poems and posies and ----
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 that you use for protection?
Is it really somewhere you can stay?
Is it a or a lecture?
Is it a beating at the hands of your
Does the idol feet of clay?
Home is you make it, so my friends
all say,
but I rarely see homes in these dark days.
Some of are snails and carry houses
on their
live in monuments which, one day,
will be --
I keep my home in place with
and tin-tacks,
but I still there's some other Force here :
He who cracks the and moves the walls
keeps through the eye-slits of the portraits
in my
He my library and taps the telephone --
I've never actually Him,
but I He's 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, :
else 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.
secret garlands about my head
unearthly is broken :
the is growing dark, and in the stark light
I can see a face I know
this be the guy who never 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 throw weight around, you might
break your
and if you do, you know you just see
and then how are you to the dawning
of the
--- Day is just a I use to keep the dark
at bay,
and are imaginary, nothing else exists
except the I'm sitting in,
and, of course, the all-pervading ---
sometimes I wonder if even real ....
Maybe I should de-louse this
I should de-place this louse;
Maybe I'll maybe my life
in the confines of silent house.
Sometimes it's very here; sometimes it's very sad;
I think I'll disappear; sometimes I think ..... "