Luyện nghe bài hát The Calendar Hung Its Self

Does he your eyelids in the morning
when you start to raise head?
And does he to you incessantly
from the place your bed and wall?
Does he around all day at school
with his feet inside your
down every few steps
to pretend he with you.
Does he know that below your neck
is your favourite to be touched
and he cry through broken sentences
like I love you far too
Does he lay awake listening to breath?
Worried you smoke too many cigarettes.
Is he now
on a floor?
For every speck of
there are a more
that you ever see
but most inside yourself
eternally.

I your ghost across the country
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 only

I kissed a girl with a jaw
that her father to her.
She had bright enough to burn me.
They me of yours.
In a story she was a little girl
in a red-rouge, field
and there were rows of 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 skies are
You me happy
the are grey
and
and grey.

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