Luyện nghe bài hát Nighthawk Postcards

there's a blur drizzle down the
as a neon swizzle stick up the sultry night air
and a yellow biscuit of a buttery cue moon
rollin' across an obsidian sky
as the busses go and wheezin',
down on the corner I'm
on a boulevard at a midnight road
I'm across from EASY STREET
with the tight knots of and out of towners
on the
and the buildings high above
lit like dominoes or black
all the car salesmen dressed up in
Checkerboard slacks
and Foster wrap-around,
pacing in front of SCHLEIB
$39.95
barkers at a shootin' gallery
they throw out kind of a Texas routine
"Hello sucker, we your money
just as well as else's here"
or they you the P.T. Barnum bit
"There's a born every minute
you just to be comin' along at the right time"
come here now
you know... all the harlequin sailors are on the
in a of "LIKE NEW," "NEW PAINT,"
decent air and AM-FM dreams
and the piss gypsy cabs
stacked up in the taxi zones waitin'
machines
to be off a joy ride to a magical place
waitin' in line like "truckers welcome"
with lots full of
Peterbilts, Kenworths, and the like, and
they're with bankrupt brakes, over driven
paid, over fed, a day late and a dollar short
but I got my lips around a bottle and
my on the throttle and I'm standin' on the corner
standin' on the corner a "just in town"
jasper, on a corner with a gasper lookin
' for some of Cheshire billboard grin
stroking a goateed chin, and parking meters
as sticks on the inebriated stroll
with my eyelids propped open at mast
but you know... over at Chubb's Hall and Snooker
it was a nickle after two, yea it was a nickle two
and in the cobalt blue dream smoke, it
was the that groaned out the hit parade
and the chalk squeaked, the creaked
and an Olympia sign winked a torn yellow
shade, old Jack Chance leanin' up against
a Wurlitzer and eyeballin' out a 5 ball shot
impossible you say? ...hard to believe?,
out of the realm of possibility?
he be stretchin' out long fingers out across a
cool green felt with a provocative gate
and a table railshot that's no sweat and I leaned
up against my bannister and wandered to the
and I punched A-2 I was lookin' for
something like Wine, Wine, Wine by the Caps
starring Chuck E. Weiss or Blood Pressure
by George (cryin' in the streets) - no dice
"that's life," what all the people say ridin' high
in April, seriously down in May, but I know I'm
gonna change that tune I'm standing underneath
a moon that's all melted off to one side
It was just about that time the sun
crawlin' yellow out of a manhole
at the foot of 23rd
and a dracula in a black disguise
was its way back to its
pre-paid room at the St. Moritz (scat)
and the El came tumbling across the trestles and it sounded
like the of Gene Krupa
an overhead cam and glasspacks
and the whispering of wet radials
on a wet pavement and a
traffic jam session on Belmont
and the rhapsody of the
evening, I leaned up
my bannister and I've looking
for kind of an emotional
investment with dividends
kind of a physical
is
as I attempt to all my
missed payments, into
one-low-monthly
through the
with romantic and leg akimbo
but the chances are more likely I'll probably
be held for another smashed weekend