Luyện nghe bài hát The Calendar Hung Its Self

Does he your eyelids in the morning
when you start to your head?
And he sing to you incessantly
from the place your bed and wall?
Does he walk all day at school
with his feet your shoes?
Looking down every few
to pretend he walks you.
Does he know that below your neck
that is your favourite to be
and does he cry broken sentences
like I love you far too
Does he lay awake to your breath?
Worried you smoke too many cigarettes.
Is he now
on a bathroom
For speck of tile
there are a thousand
that you won't see
but most hold yourself
eternally.

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

I a girl with a broken jaw
her father gave to her.
She had bright enough to burn me.
They me of yours.
In a story told she was a girl
in a red-rouge, field
and there were rows of tomatoes
where a was concealed.
And it rose thunder,
under our hands.
And it stretched for
to a diary end
I wrote,
You me happy
the skies are grey
You me happy
the are grey
and
and grey.

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