Luyện nghe bài hát An Old Scab

I sit each morning, look at my empty
The is quiet, the air conditioning sounds like rain falling
Manic-depressive composer Robert Schumann, when he could not
He'd get down on his knees and he would for help

It's not as bad as eating your own liver but
I'd to think that there are better methods

I try to tackle the page that lay me but then I drift off
And think about the of Ben Wah balls, I rouse myself
And I finish washing dishes, make lists of
Make all my calls and then I pray for help

But each time I try to make a stab
I end up just at an old scab