Luyện nghe bài hát Writers Are A Funny Breed

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

Walking through your rooms, I thought things fitting
These fingers these are wings
It April on your calendar
winter now, I wonder where you are
I hope it's warm and or cold and windy
As long as you're

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

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

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

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