Luyện nghe bài hát The Calendar Hung Its Self

Does he kiss your in the morning
when you start to your head?
And he sing to you incessantly
from the place between bed and wall?
he walk around all day at school
with his feet your shoes?
Looking every few steps
to he walks with you.
Does he that place below your neck
is your favourite to be touched
and he cry through 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 speck of
are a thousand more
that you won't see
but most inside yourself
eternally.

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

I a girl with a broken jaw
that her father to her.
She had bright enough to burn me.
reminded me of yours.
In a story told she was a girl
in a red-rouge, field
and there rows of ripe tomatoes
a secret was concealed.
And it rose thunder,
clapped our hands.
And it for centuries
to a entry's end
I wrote,
You make me
the skies are grey
You make me
the skies are
and
and grey.

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