Luyện nghe bài hát Bertie's Brochures

August the 20th: Yes, folks, it's another cold, clammy day in England. A large crowd has gathered around the police station. Everybody--EVERYBODY--wishes to have contact with a certain little Irish writer within. Not to discuss his works, though the works are known to them; they've been published in the tabloid papers by the police under the heading "Barbaric Butcher's Brochures". No, they want to tear his very head from his body, for what it is alleged he did in the way of damage to two soldiers in a nearby public lavatory. The night draws in. Nobody would say a word about him, except a fool like me [(and his skin)].

In rainy Ireland in the
There a pink farmhouse door
A small Bertie, playing at trenches,
asks, "Daddy, the blowtorch for?"
He said, "The torch cut the cars to turn them into sculpture
so I can express I feel. The college men may laugh,
the persecute me, but I do for myself. So should you."

Come look at Bertie's
You'll be enchanted, I am
The whole world's in Bertie's
All the wisdom, the of dear friends

freakshow Britain, through the Eighties
Bertie works in labs, though his aims still endure
though only at does he do his real work
Learning, his brochures...

for he still that everyone's a poet
and all he has to do is to set it down
and so the milkman,
the waitress and the gunman into ART!!

Now they're at Bertie's brochures
Detectives crowbars and skewers
They see things in Bertie's
Their own of all other races and their fear

Don't at Bertie's brochures
He would not if were yours
So what if enemy is there?
an artist, so why should he care?
It's the north European peasant