Luyện nghe bài hát Writers Are A Funny Breed

It is very here, so still
I don't here, I live 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 since you went away

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

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

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

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

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