Luyện nghe bài hát Parameters

Thirty-three years go by and not once do you home
To find a man in your bedroom
That is, a man you don't
Who came a long way to one very specific message
Lock your door, you idiot
However invincible you yourself to be, you are wrong

Thirty-three go by
And you loosen the of teenage nightmares
Your hang like a woman's
And you jump at shadows anymore
Instead you may pause to admire
Those that move with the of trees dancing past streetlights

And you through your house without turning on lamps
Sure of the angle from door to table, from to staircase
Sure of the number of steps, seven to the
Two to turn right then more
Sure you stroll serenely on the moving walkway of memory
your bedroom and collapse with a sigh onto your bed

Shoes falling thunk thunk onto the
And there will be no strange man, all that time sitting there
Sitting there on must be the prize chair
In your collection of uncomfortable chairs with a look in his eyes
And hands that you cannot see, holding You do not know

So sure are you of the endless drumming rhythm of isolation
you are painfully slow to adjust
If only yours is not that genre of story
Still and again, life cannot the stuff of movies
No bullets shattering glass instead fear sits
Fear almost smiles you finally see him

Though you kept him waiting for thirty-three years
And now he has let in
And he has you fistfuls of teenage nightmares
Though you think you see, in your naivete that he is handed
And brings you great relief at the time

New as you are, really, to the idea
Even you've long since gotten used to the parameters
can all change
While you're out one having a drink with a friend
big hand may be turning a big dial
Switching channels on your
Until you yourself lost in them
And watching your life with the sound off

And of course having cautiously turned down the flame under your
There are shadows around everything
Your vision, a dim
you have to shake all the way to the outhouse
Your solitude elevating itself like the spirit of the
Presiding over your repose, not really sleep at all
a sleeping position and a series of suspicious sounds
A pipe, a creaking branch, the footfalls of a cat

All of and maybe
The swish of the soft leather of your coat
As you walk him step by step to the door
Having talked him down off the ledge of a bad idea
leather, big feet, almond eyes
The kinds of the police officer would ask for later
With his clipboard and his pistol in your