Luyện nghe bài hát Writers Are A Funny Breed

It is quiet here, so still
I don't live here, I live down the hill on winter's afternoon
The sun, it slowly swings the room around
room hangs on a golden chain suspended, frozen
Frozen in time you went away

Walking through your rooms, I thought your fitting
These aren't fingers these are
It says on your calendar
winter now, I wonder where you are
I hope it's and sunny or cold and windy
As as you're fine

Your house is as as mine
Crumpled papers everywhere like
one says, "I'll write no more"
That one says, "Don't the door"
Writers are a funny breed I know

You said when we're pure and high
We won't to capture and describe
The we see or don't see
let things be
Let things be that's you'd leave

And that is why I had to come
My mad crumpled, crippled, fey
words from ledges that erode
From I am not a goat
I am not a piece of chalk, I just want to do it like you

And now I here in your house
thing's so still
I wonder if I'll write or let things be
Writers are a funny