Luyện nghe bài hát This Is A Fire Door Never Leave Open

Headlights race towards the of the dining room.
Half illuminate a face they disappear.
You in forty years of failing to describe a feeling.
I breathe out against the window, trace the letters in your name.
Our letters the same;
full of all our changing isn't change at all.
All straight circle sometime.
You said "Somewhere there's a box full of parts
to all the we've broken or let rust away.
Somewhere sympathy is more just a way of leaving.
Somewhere someone 'I'm sorry.'
Someone's making to stay."
So tell me okay.
Tell me anything, or show me a pull,
unassailable, that lead you there,
from the dark, alone, benevolence that never known,
or you knew when you four and can't remember.
a small knife tears out those sloppy seams,
and the silence knows you silence means,
and your metaphors (as as you can make them)
are linked, days, together.
I still hear trains at night, the wind is right.
I remember everything,
and thread this string that will mend you
or tailor more than a of a kitchen floor,
or the fire-door we kept propping open.
And I love this place; the sky,
and the faces, hands I'm haunted by,
so why can't I forgive buildings,
these labeled "Home"?