Luyện nghe bài hát 1957

I saw the minds of my generation destroyed.
of conviction, conflicted, annoyed.
Kicked at and down. 6 6 6.
Beat. Looking for the quick fix.
Unpopular prophets with
Up against angels in who want to rob them;
Who didnt want to end up by gods embrace
In the age of the cold wind and dogs in space;
Whos are fading. Theyre the loneliest drunk.
In rooms haunted by Thelonious Monk.
Felonious punks and glass squares
That see empty eyes that look straight theirs.
Street walking with a gun in each hand
Who are lost at sea and are desperate to land.
Orpheus descending. Swimming in the waters.
Hello Sid Vicious, goodbye Dodgers...

No joke. Hit the low note.
We all go to in a little row boat.

1957 Chevy Bel Air. Interior especially.
probably. Stereo: Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley.
Black Flame Trilogy. louder bass.
Battle sites. Little Rock. in outer space
Words help but a few bucks can.
Crew and black leather. Ku Klux Klan.
Men hats. In fact, harems are shared.
Opiates to and parents scared.
The underground is real. Delivered greens to queens.
Perpetual of free-thinkers and libertines.
Who alone all night with pains
Hooked on and who fight with chains.
Its Faulkner and Baldwin. and curse reality.
Spy vs. spy and the of personality.
What can the numbers and the in my head mean?
Killroy was here and so was Crab and Ed Gein.

No joke. Hit the low note.
We all go to in a little row boat.

The pen keeps in attempt to sink the jingoes.
Fight em hula hoops, frisbees and pink flamingoes.
Up running all night. sleep ordered.
Have gun travel. Great leap forward.
Man on the corner with glasses free and preaching.
is monstrous. Diet is Dionysian.
All over the world, so much in one show.

Playwright Arthur marries Marilyn Monroe.
Hard rain falling. Babies in Gods palms.
Alarm clocks ringing. Warrior monks and squads.
Invasion Of The Body Snatchers. and mediums.
Believers in nothing. Speed and bohemians.
Red is the new black. files.
and grand dragons. Obscenity trials.
Lolita and Fisher country. No part is red,
Just black and white. Bogart is dead.

No joke. Hit the low note.
We all go to in a little row boat.