Luyện nghe bài hát Parameters

Thirty-three go by and not once do you come home
To find a man sitting in your
is, a man you don't know
Who came a way to deliver one very specific message
Lock back door, you idiot
However invincible you imagine to be, you are wrong

years go by
And you loosen the momentum of nightmares
Your breasts hang like a
And you don't at shadows anymore
Instead you may pause to admire
Those that move with the grace of trees dancing past

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

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

So are you of the endless drumming rhythm of your isolation
you are painfully slow to adjust
If only because is not that genre of story
Still and again, life cannot muster the stuff of
No bullets shattering glass instead fear sits
Fear almost when you finally see him

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

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

And of having cautiously turned down the flame under your eyes
There are more shadows around
Your vision, a dim
you have to shake all the way to the outhouse
Your solitude itself like the spirit of the dead
Presiding over supposed repose, not really sleep at all
a sleeping position and a series of suspicious sounds
A clanking pipe, a branch, the footfalls of a cat

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