Luyện nghe bài hát A Howling Dust

The soil here is in summer
so I my father in a tomb of rocks,
a plot St. Catherines church
to lay rest the gilded 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 devoted to riches.

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

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

A of my friends and I
to explore the creek.
The Chinaman there,
for gold.
We mocked him, and him,
I him with my knife.
He his revolver
and in the air.
The errant
off of a stone
and my leg.
I ran bawling
to the town.

the Chinaman,
clutching the noose.

Law
arrived.
The demanded
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 grabbed
the gleaners hand.
wrapped the collar
his neck.
The horde on the rope,
dragged and choked,
his brains upon the wall.

Soon all the gold mines
but that never did.
Red still stains the cell wall.
Father was tried,
mourn a foreigner,
but I saw in his eyes.
With all the spent,
the people the town
yet I stayed to dwell still.
When died of drink
I did not for him.
I pray the grave his sins.

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