Luyện nghe bài hát Parameters

Thirty-three go by and not once do you come home
To a man sitting in your bedroom
That is, a man you know
Who came a long way to one very specific message
Lock your door, you idiot
However invincible you yourself to be, you are wrong

years go by
And you loosen the momentum of nightmares
Your breasts hang a woman's
And you don't jump at anymore
Instead you may simply pause to
that move with the grace of trees dancing past streetlights

And you through your house without turning on lamps
Sure of the angle from door to table, from to staircase
Sure of the of steps, seven to the landing
Two to turn right seven more
Sure you will stroll serenely on the walkway of memory
Across bedroom and collapse with a sigh onto your bed

Shoes falling thunk onto the floor
And there be no strange man, suddenly all that time sitting there
Sitting there on what must be the prize
In your collection of uncomfortable chairs a wild look in his eyes
And hands you cannot see, holding what? You do not know

So sure are you of the endless drumming rhythm of isolation
That you are painfully to adjust
If because yours is not that genre of story
Still and again, life cannot the stuff of movies
No bullets shattering glass instead fear sits
Fear almost smiles when you see him

Though you have kept him waiting for thirty-three
And now he has let in
And he has brought you fistfuls of nightmares
Though you think you see, in your naivete he is empty handed
And this you great relief at the time

New as you are, really, to the that
Even after you've long since gotten used to the
They can all
While you're out one night having a drink with a
Some big may be turning a big dial
Switching channels on your
Until you yourself lost in them
And watching your daily life with the off

And of course cautiously turned down the flame under your eyes
There are shadows around everything
vision, a dim flashlight
That you have to shake all the way to the
solitude elevating itself like the spirit of the dead
Presiding your supposed repose, not really sleep at all
Just a sleeping and a series of suspicious sounds
A pipe, a creaking branch, the footfalls of a cat

All of this and
The of the soft leather of your intruder's coat
As you walk him by step back to the door
talked him down off the ledge of a very bad idea
Soft leather, big feet, almond
The kinds of details the police officer would ask for
his clipboard and his pistol in your hallway