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

(Hammill)

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

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

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

Talking in is easy when you know how,
quite pleasing, but still nothing out right.
Pressurised lungs, bleeding, you'd better slow down
and show that you can make it the night.
dark it seems, the present is just the present,
beyond it no further lies concealed
and through these 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 near you, you'll see:
in the end there's only you and III,
and is just what you chose to be.
(Fool!)

Though I know all is just escape,
I run because I know where the prison lies.
In songs like this I can bear the
I'm still,
I until,
one day, I hope I'll arrive.