Luyện nghe bài hát May I Call You Beatrice

Just a little in the head of the one
With the sunburnt cheeks and the eyes to the
Making earwaxed tongue-tied sounds

Thinking of the lost rib, the indelible
Thinking the unthinkable, no one's

And the eyes say, I don't believe met
I don't believe had the privilege
I don't believe met

When the wind, when the wind, when the wind blows
And the eyes of the child old
When the erratic conga rises and
Above the metronome
You can take me back to the

See her from the weight of the globe
around his assumptions, barefoot and tight lipped
He in his favourite chair, his world around

First Beatrice then she's a pumpkin
she's a faded leaf in a book on his pantry shelf

When the wind, when the wind, the wind blows cold
And the eyes of the grow old
When the conga rises and falls
the faithful metronome
You can me back to the gravestone

The head sees the hand play with the ring in the
And the knows the hand knows the ring is as round
As the tear-soaked in a room in another town

And the ring is getting heavy and so is the
Which she drags to the chair feebly to keep the swelling

When the wind, the wind, when the wind blows cold
And the eyes of the grow old
When the erratic rises and falls
Above the metronome
You can take me to the gravestone

When the bird in the bush is worth two in the
And the empty cage the empty man
The bird keeps from the orgoglian rising

And the phone keeps and the phone keeps ringing
And the ring slipping and the phone
And the keeps on ringing

And thinking about the one who got away
And thinking about the one who got away
And thinking about the one who got away
And he's thinking about the one who got

And he's thinking and thinking
thinking?