Luyện nghe bài hát Writers Are A Funny Breed

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

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

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

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

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

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