Luyện nghe bài hát The Calendar Hung Its Self

Does he kiss your in the morning
when you to raise your head?
And does he to you incessantly
the place between your bed and wall?
Does he walk around all day at
with his feet inside shoes?
Looking down few steps
to pretend he with you.
Does he know that place your neck
that is your favourite to be
and he cry through broken sentences
like I you far too much?
Does he lay listening to your breath?
Worried that you too many cigarettes.
Is he now
on a bathroom
For speck of tile
there are a thousand
that you ever see
but hold inside yourself
eternally.

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

I kissed a girl a broken jaw
her father gave to her.
She had eyes bright enough to me.
They me of yours.
In a story told she was a little
in a red-rouge, field
and there were of ripe tomatoes
where a was concealed.
And it like thunder,
clapped our hands.
And it stretched for
to a entry's end
I wrote,
You make me
when the are grey
You make me
the skies are
and
and grey.

Well the clock's heart it inside its open chest
with its stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
but I will not for those dying days.
For all the who have left
are a few that stayed.
And they me here
and pulled me the grass
I was laid.