Luyện nghe bài hát Writers Are A Funny Breed

It is quiet here, so still
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 chain suspended,
Frozen in time since you went

Walking through your rooms, I thought things fitting
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 house is as tumble-down as
Crumpled papers everywhere mine
one says, "I'll write no more"
That one says, "Don't the door"
Writers are a funny breed I know

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

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

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