Luyện nghe bài hát An Old Scab

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

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

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

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