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 on a golden chain suspended, frozen
Frozen in time you went away

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

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

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

And that is why I had to today
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 to do it right like you

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