Luyện nghe bài hát Distortion

But I don't believe in ghosts or
I that you are gone and that
I'm carrying some version of you
Some untrustworthy old description in my
That must be your ghost taking
every moment by me dreaming you so
Is it my job now to whatever's left of you for all time?
And to reenact you for our daughter's

I do
When I was a kid and realized that life ends and is just
a point comes where we no longer get to say or do anything
And then what? I guess forgotten
I to my mom that I hoped to do something important with my life
Not be famous, but just remembered a little
To echo beyond my end
My mom laughed at this kid trying to wriggle his way out of
Of the inescapable final feral
But I held that hope and grew up wondering what means
Unsatisfied, and squirming

The first dead body I saw in real life was my great-grandfather's
Embalmed in a casket in Everett in a by the freeway
Where they me into reading a thing from the bible
About walking through a valley in the of death
But I understand the words
I thought of actually walking through a and a shadow
a backpack and a tent
But that dead body next to me clear and metaphor-free

In December
After having the summer and fall traveling mostly alone around
The country that was spiraling war
and mania, flags were everywhere
I was living on the periphery as a twenty three old
Wrapped up in what I wanted and
it was and painting on newsprint
Sleeping in without asking permission and eating all the fruit
From the tree like or Walt Whitman,
voracious, devouring life, my song
But December I was shaken by a pregnancy scare
From someone who I'd been for only one night
Many states away, who I planned to keep knowing
A young and embarrassing over-confident animal
The terror of the of fatherhood
at three destroyed my foundation
And left me freaked out and around
Mourning the independence and solitude that defined me
my life is a galaxy of subtleties
My complex and aspirations do not matter at all
In the face of the crushing of actual time
I saw my ancestors as sad and
In the same way that my descendants will back through a fog
Trying to see polluted version of all I meant to be in life
Their recollections pruned by the of time
What got away and what gets talked about at night
But she had her period
and I went back to being three

Eleven years later I was traveling alone
On an from New Zealand to Perth, Western Australia
Very alone, so far away you and the home that we had made
I watched a movie on the plane about Jack
A documentary going deeper than the congratulations
interviewed his daughter,
Jan Kerouac, and she tore through the
She told about this deadbeat drinking, Three Stooges on TV
Not acknowledging his paternity, abandoning the
Taking cowardly refuge in his
When she spoke I heard your voice me about the adults who had
Abandoned you as a kid and left you to grow precariously
And when she spoke I looked in her and saw you looking back at me
On a tiny airplane seat screen at the bottom of the
I saw a resemblance
And I heard echoing
A of bad parents and strong daughters withstanding
She had black hair and freckles and skin just like you
And she told the hard truth and slayed the gods just you
I saw the cracks in the facade of
I you so I went home

The second dead body I ever saw was you,
When I watched you turn from alive to right here in our house
I looked around the and asked "Are you here?"
And you weren't, and you are not here. I sing to you
I keep you breathing through my
In a uncomfortable stream of memories trailing out
Until I am too
And then eventually all the who remember me will also die
Containing what it was like to stand in the air with me
And and wonder why

And then
And then the of space
The Night
The ocean
But in my tears now
gleams