Luyện nghe bài hát Crowquill

Nothing's so lucid as the of dreams, but these pills we found just make me sleep.
There's nothing so pure as the written word my dear, so lets have ourselves a little poem.
Until the will to loses urgency.
Our indecency in print is so blase.
Its about the bell tower, at the hour.
Angel of the spires climbs steel cage staircase spine, angle of desire.
Ascend the iron, one by one, wrung by wrung.
Is it the rising roof that makes me feel so swallowed whole,
or the way my body barely the sky,
the same as a century's worth of virgin's blood that's passed my longing veins,
to convince my aching mind that pleasure's got nothing on the miracle of need.
Nothing's so purile as meter and rhyme when you can't see the from that ledge and this perch is so far, far from the nest.
Gravity doesn't me the privilege of failure my bough never breaks
I don't stumble into
so I climb and I my initials in the bark with that feather I found but its all so contrived.
My genes didn't bless me with the of a sage but I know how this will end, in apologies and ink on the page.
A slowly constructed quilled confession of my spirit to all of you,
black ink scars the board, so hot-pressed, pristine and pure.
A constructed manifestation of "to tremble",
as base as a in a song and less like the poem that I promised you.
Nothing's so lurid as haiku-detat on sidewalks in white chalk,
all I've got is this ink lines.
our voices in harmony, the offering, of a crow quilled threnody.