Madonna's Hung up

Practise English, listening to this song, you can sing, too.

http://www.musica.com/video.asp?video=620
Hung Up - [Más Vídeos de Madonna]
Time goes by so slowly (x6)
Every little thing that you say or do
I'm hung up
I'm hung up on you
Waiting for your call
Baby night and day
I'm fed up
I'm tired of waiting on you
Time goes by so slowly for those who wait
No time to hesitate
Those who run seem to have all the fun
I'm caught up
I don't know what to do
Time goes by so slowly
Time goes by so slowly
Time goes by so slowly
I don't know what to do
Every little thing that you say or do
I'm hung up
I'm hung up on you
Waiting for your call
Baby night and day
I'm fed up
I'm tired of waiting on you
Every little thing that you say or do
I'm hung up
I'm hung up on you
Waiting for your call
Baby night and day
I'm fed up
I'm tired of waiting on you
Ring ring ring goes the telephone
The lights are on but there's no-one home
Tick tick tock it's a quarter to two
And I'm done I'm hanging up on you
I can't keep on waiting for you
I know that you're still hesitating
Don't cry for me
'cause I'll find my way
you'll wake up one day
but it'll be too late
Every little thing that you say or do
I'm hung up
I'm hung up on you
Waiting for your call
Baby night and day
I'm fed up
I'm tired of waiting on you
Every little thing that you say or do
I'm hung up
I'm hung up on you
Waiting for your call
Baby night and day
I'm fed up
I'm tired of waiting on you

THANKSGIVING IS COMING !

It is on the 4th Thursday of November in USA. It is a very important festivity which started to be celebrated when the Pilgrims, the founders of America, left Britain on the boat Mayflower in 1620 and arrived on the north-east coast of America.
It was winter and they didn’t have food, homes. It was very hard time and many Pilgrims died. The Wampanoag Indians, Who lived there, helped them. They taught them how to grow corn, hunt, etc. Before next Winter they had food and homes.
The Pilgrim leader, Governor William Bradford thought it was a good idea to celebrate a dinner with the Indians to thank them for their help and thanks God for everything. The first Thanksgiving Dinner lasted three days.
Nowadays American families meet this day and have the Thanksgiving meal together. Most of them start the meal with a prayer to give thanks to God.
They prepare roast turkey, sweet potatoes, corn, pumpkin pie, etc.




Now it is time to work with vocabulary and have some fun .














Can you help the Pilgrim
find the turkey
for
dinner?

for more information about this American festivity click http://www.holidays.net/thanksgiving/

http://www.scholastic.com/scholastic_thanksgiving/

short stories

Have some fun reading a mystery story!

A Haunted House
Virginia Woolf

Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure--a ghostly couple.

"Here we left it," she said. And he added, "Oh, but here tool" "It's upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or we shall wake them."

But it wasn't that you woke us. Oh, no. "They're looking for it; they're drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now they've found it,' one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands were empty. "Perhaps its upstairs then?" The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The windowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling--what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. "Safe, safe, safe" the pulse of the house beat softly. "The treasure buried; the room . . ." the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?

A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burned behind the glass. Death was the glass; death was between us, coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house beat gladly. 'The Treasure yours."

The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy.

"Here we slept," she says. And he adds, "Kisses without number." "Waking in the morning--" "Silver between the trees--" "Upstairs--" 'In the garden--" "When summer came--" 'In winter snowtime--" "The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.

Nearer they come, cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass. Our eyes darken, we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. "Look," he breathes. "Sound asleep. Love upon their lips."

Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.

"Safe, safe, safe," the heart of the house beats proudly. "Long years--" he sighs. "Again you found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; in the garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure--" Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Safe! safe! safe!" the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry "Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart."

if you feel like reading more stories click on http://www.englishclub.com/reading/short-stories.htm