Luyện nghe bài hát A Howling Dust

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

With gold to the North,
drove 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 child to riches.

The Mexicans staged
bull and fights near the bar.
kept a boy entertained
when were no hangings to enjoy.

The flooded the quarries,
working for less the Whites.
My father would the Orientals,
yet home reeking of opium.

A group of my and I
left to the creek.
The Chinaman there,
for gold.
We him, and pushed him,
I prodded him my knife.
He his revolver
and in the air.
The bullet
ricocheted off of a
and my leg.
I ran bawling
to the town.

the Chinaman,
clutching the noose.

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

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

The lynch mob grabbed
the gleaners hand.
Father the collar
his neck.
The horde on the rope,
dragged and choked,
his brains upon the wall.

Soon all the mines dried
but that never did.
Red still stains the jail wall.
Father was tried,
none a foreigner,
but I saw in his eyes.
With all the spent,
the left the town
yet I stayed to here still.
When Father died of
I did not for him.
I pray the unburdens his sins.

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