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

(Hammill)

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

If only I could phrase satisfactory
in conversation, to my passion 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 else I know is true,
none in all the masks of men,
there's nothing
but my guitar...
I suppose have to do.

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

Though I know all is just escape,
I run I don't 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.