Luyện nghe bài hát Parameters

Thirty-three years go by and not once do you come
To find a man sitting in bedroom
That is, a man you don't
Who came a long way to deliver one specific message
your back door, you idiot
However invincible you imagine yourself to be, you are

years go by
And you loosen the of teenage nightmares
Your breasts hang a woman's
And you don't jump at shadows
Instead you may pause to admire
Those that move with the grace of dancing past streetlights

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

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

So sure are you of the drumming rhythm of your isolation
That you are slow to adjust
If only because yours is not genre of story
and again, life cannot muster the stuff of movies
No bullets shattering glass instead sits patiently
almost smiles when you finally see him

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

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

And of having cautiously turned down the flame under your eyes
There are more around everything
vision, a dim flashlight
That you have to shake all the way to the
Your solitude itself like the spirit of the dead
over your supposed repose, not really sleep at all
Just a 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 soft leather of intruder's coat
As you walk him step by step back to the
Having talked him off the ledge of a very bad idea
Soft leather, big feet, almond
The kinds of the police officer would ask for later
With his clipboard and his pistol in hallway