Luyện nghe bài hát The Siren Song

(Hammill)

Letters in pencil, some of them as as lead,
as dated as carbon, as as coal, but burning as red.
Clues stencilled: the message, though leeched, is unbled,
as as marble - as young, as old, as living, as dead.
And that laugh
that comes as though from pain:
I'm lashed to the mast
still it hammers my brain.

in the backbone,
laughter wise,
same laughter that comes
every time I flash on that in your eyes
which whispers of a zone
which'll all my credos as lies,
all logic is done
and time will every theory I devise.
And the hour-glass is
only by the magic of your
where nothing matters....
No, Nothing matters much!

So the siren song runs the ages,
and it courses through my veins like
and with all the kisses of addiction
it's calling me to break my again.

memory exploding like shrapnel,
some escape on my tongue,
some of scar comprehension...
beneath the scab burn, but the wound becomes numb.
And always the song me forward,
rejoicing in the and the prayer,
with all but the mad, the strange,
the freak, the dare.
Still your chills my marrow
I embrace it on my knees....
Oh, the mast becomes a flagpole,
becomes of me?

What becomes, oh, becomes of me?