Luyện nghe bài hát The Calendar Hung Its Self

Does he your eyelids in the morning
you start to raise your head?
And does he to you incessantly
from the place between bed and wall?
Does he walk around all day at
with his feet your shoes?
Looking down every few
to pretend he walks you.
Does he know that place below neck
is your favourite to be touched
and does he cry broken sentences
I love you far too much?
Does he lay awake listening to your
Worried that you too many cigarettes.
Is he now
on a floor?
For every of tile
there are a thousand
that you ever see
but hold inside yourself
eternally.

I your ghost across the country
and we out my death.
In city, memories would whisper,
is where you rest.
I was in Chicago
but I dug my into my knees
and I for a telephone
and sang into machine.
You are my sunshine, my only

I kissed a girl with a jaw
that her father to her.
She had eyes bright enough to me.
reminded me of yours.
In a told she was a little girl
in a red-rouge, field
and there rows of ripe tomatoes
a secret was concealed.
And it like thunder,
clapped our hands.
And it for centuries
to a diary end
I wrote,
You me happy
the skies are grey
You make me
the skies are
and
and grey.

Well the clock's heart it hangs inside its open
with its stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
but I will not weep for those days.
For all the ones who left
there are a few stayed.
And they found me
and me from the grass
I was laid.