Luyện nghe bài hát A Howling Dust

The soil is hard in summer
so I my father in a tomb of rocks,
a plot behind St. church
to lay rest the gilded dreams of men.

With found to the North,
Quartzburg out its whores,
its and roughnecks.
They settled camp.

Pa every day to mine.
Id him to the gulch,
my pan and in hand,
a devoted to riches.

The Mexicans staged
and bear fights near the bar.
They kept a boy
there were no hangings to enjoy.

The flooded the quarries,
for less than the Whites.
My father curse the Orientals,
yet came home of opium.

A of my friends and I
left to the creek.
The kneeled there,
for gold.
We him, and pushed him,
I prodded him my knife.
He his revolver
and in the air.
The errant
ricocheted off of a
and my leg.
I ran back
to the town.

the Chinaman,
clutching the noose.

Law
arrived.
The demanded
that he be jailed and tried.

Gangs
late at
the jail.
led,
in hand,
in his cell.
lies.
Tempted
leaves,
the
his arm
the bars.

The lynch mob swiftly
the gleaners hand.
Father the collar
his neck.
The yanked on the rope,
Chinaman and choked,
his dashed upon the wall.

Soon all the gold dried
but blood never did.
Red still the jail cell wall.
was never tried,
none a foreigner,
but I saw in his eyes.
all the riches spent,
the people the town
yet I stayed to here still.
Father died of drink
I did not for him.
I the grave unburdens his sins.

I pray that will remain to bury me.
I pray someone will remain.