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 distant sun, it slowly swings the around
This room hangs on a golden chain suspended,
Frozen in time since you went

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

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

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

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

And now I here in your house
Every thing's so
I wonder if I'll again or let things be
are a funny breed