Luyện nghe bài hát On Artistic Integrity

I toe the of self-indulgence
Every I place my pen
Upon the page and form the
I but couldn't show 'til then
And to myself I beg the
Why do I masquerade
As one to one and to
else? If I, afraid
Of what the of stating
my cause might be,
When I rant and and reason
Do I write for or me?
I believe is some merit
In for one's self
But why place the public
What is left on the shelf?
Though while I write I do not that
What I pen is alone,
Even this could be
As are many I have
Who swore, poor souls, that they
The key to mysterious fate,
in convincing some,
But most could tell did but prate
On subjects touching something
cannot be unproven, or,
In place of content, in tongues
Yet know not whom they're for.
No, I am not so;
I do not I represent
Some divine, but still I know
I shall never be content
To hold my tongue when I speak
Or change my to suit the hour
Or pinch a blush upon my
To my joy at love gone sour.
I do not wish to
The that others place in me
To lead the way to days,
But dark is all I see.
I for good, I toil for hope,
No one can my intent
But even who listen close
Can mistake what I meant.
My fear, come to realize,
Is mainly this: I am wrong,
That my is askew,
I write shyte and call it song.
Perhaps I'll always thus,
Discount my merits, thoughts, and
well, long as I still go forth
And see this, my vision, leads.
Strong is she who knows her
And speaks it she may not please.
Fortunate the
hears such honest thoughts as these.