Luyện nghe bài hát May I Call You Beatrice

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

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

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

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

See her strain the weight of the globe
Spinning around his assumptions, and tight lipped
He in his favourite chair, blowing his around

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

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

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

And the ring is getting and so is the crown
Which she drags to the chair feebly to the swelling down

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

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

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

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

And he's thinking and thinking
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