Luyện nghe bài hát A Howling Dust

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

With gold to the North,
drove out its whores,
its and roughnecks.
They this camp.

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

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

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

A of my friends and I
left to the creek.
The Chinaman there,
for gold.
We mocked him, and him,
I prodded him my knife.
He gripped his
and in the air.
The bullet
off of a stone
and my leg.
I ran bawling
to the town.

the Chinaman,
clutching the noose.

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

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

The lynch mob swiftly
the exposed hand.
wrapped the collar
his neck.
The horde on the rope,
Chinaman and choked,
his brains dashed the wall.

Soon all the gold mines
but that blood did.
Red still stains the jail wall.
was never 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 of drink
I did not for him.
I pray the unburdens his sins.

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