Luyện nghe bài hát Script of a Dead Poet

The coffee black and nearly
And I look while hours pass by
A sheet of paper on the table to shreds
If you are able to the puzzle, try
It's my script that you may hold
Or wipe when the bar has closed
My last remains in your hands and in the end
What I was writing for, I don't know
know

How many times to make youy
Or was it for the triumph of hands
How many words I had to spell and all the stories I would
For the and orgiastic turn when'd you say: well

What were they for, these black inked
A that I was wise
And so called gods define an entrance for eternal
a masterpeace of mine
All I to be
Was extraordinary,
And maybe I was
How people have I killed
With my songs

Janey