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Lyrkit pik

Hallo! Ik ben Lirkit!

Ik heb veel manieren geprobeerd om Engelse woorden te onthouden en vond de meest effectieve voor mij!

We hebben alle woorden van de liedjes die we ons hele leven hebben gehoord al in ons geheugen. We hebben er simpelweg geen aandacht aan besteed, maar we horen ze allemaal al!

Ik merkte dat wanneer je een nieuw woord leert uit een liedje dat je al eerder hebt gehoord, je de vertaling van dit woord al voor altijd kent en je het nooit zult vergeten!

Deze methode wil ik met je delen. Het schema is dus als volgt.

We vinden liedjes die we al gehoord hebben.

We voegen alle onbekende woorden ervan toe.

We slagen voor minitests van geheugenspellen. klaar

Nu je veel woorden kent, zul je heel snel de hele taal leren kennen!

Ik wed dat je verrast zult zijn hoe effectief deze methode is!)

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mewithoutYou

Timothy Hay

 

Timothy Hay

(album: It's All Crazy! It's All False! It's All A Dream! It's Alright - 2009)


On a cold December, just before dawn, as the sun said Hello!
To the sky, the Mantis prayed while the Lamellicorn tunneled and rolled in a threadbare tie.
When the Holland Lops in the Karakung Glades indignantly thump their feet and hopped away when they cut their noses on the sharp-tipped blades (which the grass doesn't mind in the least).
And there's a heat-pat waiting in the chicken-wire hutch where the does from the Netherlands stay, but that dry alfalfa don't taste like much and we're tired of the Timothy hay.
(hay)

I touched her back, she was lying facedown, the dew turned to frost in her eyes.
Me and Sister Margaret on the Pentagon lawn with our wrists in a plastic tie.
While the rats by the tracks on these winter days seeking shelter from the cold, make a nest from the tracts of our various ways that they can save their immortal souls.

No Timothy hay.
Oh no..., Timothy hay?
Oh no..., Timothy hay?
Oh no..., Timothy hay?
Oh no..., Timothy hay?
Oh no..., Timothy hay?
Please no more Timothy hay.
No more Timothy hay.
Oh no, no more Timothy hay.
No, no more Timothy hay.
Oh no, no more Timothy hay.
No more Timothy hay.

On a cold December, just after dusk, as the sun bid its cordial goodbyes, we'll be split to pieces like an apple seed husk to reveal the tree that's been hidden inside.
Which sapling called in a tattered sarong as the seeds from the Shepherd's Purse fell, broke the news to Mom, we found a better Mom we call 'God,' which she took quite well, singing:

What a beautiful God, what a beautiful God, what a beautiful God there must be!
What a beautiful God, what a beautiful God, what a beautiful God there must be!
What a beautiful God, what a beautiful God, what a beautiful God there must be!
What a beautiful God, what a beautiful God, what a beautiful God You must be!

klaar

Heb je alle onbekende woorden uit dit nummer toegevoegd?