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

(Hammill)

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

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

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

Talking in tongues is when you know how,
pleasing, but still nothing works out right.
Pressurised lungs, bleeding, you'd better 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 through these dreams,
longing for friends and comfort,
you know in the end all will be revealed.
When no more plants or dogs or rooms are there to you,
and no-one is left you, then you'll see:
in the end there's only you and III,
and this is 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 bear the
I'm still,
I until,
one day, I hope that arrive.