Luyện nghe bài hát Meurglys III, The Songwriter's Guild

(Hammill)

These days I just talk to plants and dogs,
all contact seems painful, risky, odd,
so I stay acting god in my own
where I trade cigarettes in for songs.
The deal's made harder the I go on:
I find me gone all but secret languages.

If only I could phrase satisfactory
in conversation, to my passion heard,
if only....

Meurglys III, my friend,
the only one I can trust
to let it be pretence,
no-one else.
It's me, but in the end
there's no-one else I is true,
none in all the masks of men,
there's else
but my guitar...
I suppose he'll to do.

Talking in tongues is easy when you how,
quite pleasing, but nothing works out right.
Pressurised lungs, heart bleeding, you'd slow down
and that you can make it through the night.
However it seems, the present is just the present,
beyond it no darkness lies concealed
and these desperate dreams,
this for friends and comfort,
you know that in the end all be revealed.
When no more or dogs or rooms are there to hear you,
and no-one is left you, then you'll see:
in the end only you and Meurglys III,
and is just what you chose to be.
(Fool!)

I know all this is just escape,
I run because I don't know the prison lies.
In songs like this I can the weight;
I'm still,
I until,
one day, I that I'll arrive.