Luyện nghe bài hát Writers Are A Funny Breed

It is very here, so still
I don't live here, I live down the hill on winter's afternoon
The distant sun, it slowly the room around
This room hangs on a golden chain suspended,
Frozen in time since you away

through your rooms, I thought your things fitting
These aren't fingers these are
It says on your calendar
winter now, I wonder where you are
I hope it's warm and sunny or and windy
As long as fine

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

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

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

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