Luyện nghe bài hát [Untitled]

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

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