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 felt but couldn't 'til then
And to I beg the question
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 there is merit
In creating for one's
But why before the public
What is left on the shelf?
Though while I write I do not feel
I pen is mine alone,
Even this be misguided
As are many I have
Who swore, poor souls, that possessed
The key to man's fate,
Succeeded in some,
But could tell they did but prate
On subjects touching vague
Which be unproven, or,
In place of content, speak in
Yet know not whom they're for.
No, I am not so;
I do not I represent
force divine, but still I know
That I shall never be
To hold my when I would speak
Or change my to suit the hour
Or pinch a blush my cheek
To feign my joy at love sour.
I do not wish to
The faith 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 question my
But even those who listen
Can often what I meant.
My fear, I've to realize,
Is this: that I am wrong,
my perception is askew,
That I write and call it song.
I'll always question thus,
Discount my merits, thoughts, and
'Tis well, as I still go forth
And see this, my vision, leads.
Strong is she who her mind
And it though she may not please.
Fortunate the
That hears honest thoughts as these.