Luyện nghe bài hát [Untitled]

We held hands on the night on earth.
Our mouths filled with dust, we in the fields and under trees,
like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves.
It was empty on the of town but we knew everyone floated
the bottom of the river.
So we walked 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 down like the of an intimate suicide.
We picked up the and formed them into shapes
of stars that wore an antique wedding dress.
The of the past broke the hearts of the unborn
as the ferris wheel silently to a stop.
The few insects skittered away in of a better pastime.
I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and
if you would 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 sang unrivaled beauty,
elegies of savagery and eloquence.
Of and grey.
Strange, we ran down streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city.
The sun was somewhere beyond 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 salvation scratched
into the like a message.

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