Luyện nghe bài hát Crowquill

Nothing's so lucid as the promise of dreams, but pills we found just make me sleep.
There's nothing quite so pure as the 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 wrought iron, one by one, by wrung.
Is it the roof line 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 through my veins,
scheming to convince my aching mind that pleasure's got on the miracle of need.
Nothing's so purile as meter and rhyme when you see the ground from that ledge and this perch is so far, far from the nest.
Gravity doesn't grant me the of failure my bough never breaks
I stumble into anything
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 foresight of a sage but I know how this will end, in 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 slowly constructed of "to tremble",
as base as a bridge in a song and less like the that I promised you.
so lurid as haiku-detat on sidewalks in white outlined chalk,
all I've got is ink smeared lines.
With our in harmony, the offering, of a crow quilled threnody.