Luyện nghe bài hát Dawn's Highway

Indians scattered on highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young child's eggshell mind.
Me and my mother and father - and a
and a grandfather - were driving through
the desert, at dawn, and a load of Indian
workers had either hit car, or just - I don't
know what happened - but there Indians scattered
all over the highway, to death.
So the car up and stops. That was the first time
I tasted fear. I musta' about four - like a child is
like a flower, his head is floating in the
breeze, man.
The reaction I get now thinking it, looking
back - is that the of the ghosts of those dead
Indians...maybe one or two of 'em...were
around freaking out, and just leaped into my
soul. And still in there.
scattered on dawn's highway bleeding
Ghosts the young child's fragile eggshell mind.
Blood in the streets in the town of New
Blood stains the roofs and the trees of Venice
Blood in my in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of L.A.
Blood her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth if a
Blood is the rose of mysterious
Blood on the rise, following me.
Indian, Indian what did you die
Indian says, at all.