Luyện nghe bài hát [Untitled]

We held hands on the last 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 edge of town but we knew floated
along the of the river.
So we walked through the waste 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 you said, "Death is a midnight runner."
The sky had crashing down like the news of an intimate suicide.
We picked up the shards and them into shapes
of stars that wore an antique wedding dress.
The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the
as the ferris silently slowed to a stop.
The few insects skittered in hopes of a better pastime.
I you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked
if you would me in a quick fall,
but you made me realize that my ticket 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 streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city.
The sun was stagnated beyond the rim of the horizon
and the darkness is a mystery of and lines.
Still, we lay under the and drifted slowly outward,
and somewhere in the we found salvation scratched
into the like a message.

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