Luyện nghe bài hát [Untitled]

We held hands on the night on earth.
Our mouths filled dust, we kissed in the fields and under trees,
screaming dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves.
It was empty on the edge of but we knew everyone floated
along the of the river.
So we through the waste where the road curved into the sea
and the seasons lay,
and the bitter smell of burning was on you a disease.
In our cancer of passion you said, "Death is a runner."
The sky had come crashing like the news of an intimate suicide.
We picked up the shards and formed into shapes
of stars wore like an antique wedding dress.
The echoes of the past broke the of the unborn
as the wheel silently slowed to a stop.
The few insects away in hopes of a better pastime.
I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and
if you would accompany me in a fall,
but you me realize that my ticket wasn't good for two.
I alone.
You said, "The cinders are falling snow."
There is poetry in despair, and we sang with beauty,
bitter elegies of and eloquence.
Of and grey.
Strange, we ran down desperate streets and our names in the flesh of the city.
The sun was stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the
and the is a mystery of curves and lines.
Still, we lay under the emptiness and slowly outward,
and somewhere in the wilderness we found scratched
the earth like a message.

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