Luyện nghe bài hát Lord Chancellor's Nightmare Song

Love unrequited, robs me of me
Love, hopeless love, my soul encumbers
Love, nightmare like, lies heavy on me
And weaves itself into my midnight

you're lying awake with a dismal headache
And is taboo'd by anxiety
I you may use any language
You choose to in, without impropriety

For brain is on fire, the bed-clothes conspire
Of slumber to plunder you
First your counter pane and uncovers your toes
And your sheet slips demurely from you

Then the blanketing tickles, you like mixed
Pickles, so sharp is the pricking
And hot and you're cross and you tumble and
'til there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking

Then the bed clothes all to the ground in a heap
And you 'em all up in a tangle
Next your pillow resigns and politely
To remain at its usual

Well, you get repose in the form of a dose
With hot eye and head ever aching
But your slumbering teems such horrible dreams
That very much better be waking

For you dream you are the Channel
And tossing about in a from Harwich
Which is something between a large machine
And a very second class carriage

And you're giving a treat penny ice and meat
To a party of friends and
They're a ravenous horde and all come on board
At Sloane Square and South Kensington

And bound on that you find your attorney
Who started morning from Devon
He's a bit undersiz'd and you feel surprised
When he tells you only eleven

you're driving like mad with this singular lad
By the bye the now a four wheeler
And you're round games, and he calls you bad names
When you tell him that, pay the dealer

But this you can't stand so you throw up hand
And you find as cold as an icicle
In your shirt and your the black silk with gold clocks
Crossing Sal'sbury Plain on a

And he and the are on bicycles too
Which they've somehow or other in
And he's telling the tars all the
Of a company he's in

a scheme of devices, to get at low prices
All from cough mixtures to cables
Which tickled the sailors, by retailers as
Though they were all

You get a good spades man to a small tradesman
First off his boots with a boot tree
And his legs will root, and his fingers will shoot
And they'll and bud like a fruit tree

the green grocer tree you get grapes
And pea, cauliflower, pine apple and cranberries
While the pastry cook plant brandy will grant
puffs and three corners and banburys

The shares are a penny and so many
Are taken by Rothschild and
And as a few are allotted to you
You awake and a shudder despairing

a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck
And no wonder you snore, for head's on the floor
And you've and pins from your soles to your shins
And your flesh is acreep, for left leg's asleep

And you've in your toes and a fly on your nose
And some fluff in your lung and a tongue
And a thirst intense
And a general sense that you haven't been in clover

But the has pass'd, and it's daylight at last
And the night has long, ditto, ditto my song
And thank goodness they're both of them