Luyện nghe bài hát May I Call You Beatrice

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

Thinking of the rib, dialing the indelible
Thinking the unthinkable, no home

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

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

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

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

When the wind, when the wind, when the blows cold
And the of the child grow old
When the conga rises and falls
Above the faithful
You can take me to the gravestone

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

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

When the wind, the wind, when 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

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

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

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

And thinking and he's thinking
thinking?