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 gilded dreams of men.

gold found to the North,
Quartzburg 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 Mexicans often
bull and fights near the bar.
kept a boy entertained
when there were no to enjoy.

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

A group of my and I
to explore the creek.
The kneeled there,
for gold.
We mocked him, and him,
I prodded him my knife.
He his revolver
and in the air.
The errant
off of a stone
and my leg.
I ran back
to the town.

the Chinaman,
clutching the noose.

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

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

The mob swiftly grabbed
the gleaners hand.
wrapped the collar
his neck.
The horde on the rope,
Chinaman and choked,
his brains upon the wall.

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

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