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 acting god in my own universe
where I trade cigarettes in for songs.
The deal's harder the longer I go on:
I find me gone all but secret languages.

If only I phrase 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,
there's else.
It's 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 nothing works out right.
Pressurised lungs, heart bleeding, better slow down
and show that you can it through the night.
However dark it seems, the is just the present,
beyond it no further lies concealed
and through desperate dreams,
this for friends and comfort,
you that in the end all will be revealed.
When no more plants or dogs or are there to hear you,
and is left 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 this is escape,
I run because I don't know the prison lies.
In like this I can bear the weight;
I'm still,
I until,
one day, I that I'll arrive.