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

(Hammill)

These I mainly just talk to plants and dogs,
all human contact painful, risky, odd,
so I acting god in my own universe
where I cigarettes in return for songs.
The made harder the longer I go on:
I find me from all but secret languages.

If only I phrase satisfactory words
in conversation, to make my heard,
if only....

III, he's my friend,
the only one that I can
to let it be pretence,
no-one else.
It's me, but in the end
there's no-one I know is true,
there's none in all the of men,
nothing else
but my guitar...
I suppose have to do.

Talking in is easy when you know how,
pleasing, but still nothing works out right.
Pressurised lungs, heart bleeding, you'd better down
and show that you can it through the night.
dark it seems, the present is just the present,
beyond it no further lies concealed
and through desperate dreams,
longing for friends and comfort,
you know in the end all will be revealed.
When no more plants or dogs or rooms are to hear you,
and no-one is left near you, you'll see:
in the end there's you and Meurglys III,
and this is just what you to be.
(Fool!)

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