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
untrustworthy old description in my memories
That be your ghost taking form
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 life?

I do
I was a kid and realized that life ends and is just over
That a point comes we no longer get to say or do anything
And then what? I guess just
I said to my mom that I hoped to do 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 scream
But I held that hope and grew up wondering dying means
Unsatisfied, ambitious and

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

In 2001
After having spent the summer and fall mostly alone around
The that was spiraling into war
and mania, flags were everywhere
I was living on the periphery as a three year old
Wrapped up in doing what I and
it was music and painting on
Sleeping in without asking permission and eating all the fruit
From the tree Tarzan or Walt Whitman,
voracious, life, singing my song
But that December I was shaken by a scare
From someone who I'd with for only one night
states away, who I hadn't planned to keep knowing
A and embarrassing over-confident animal night
The terror of the idea of
at twenty three my foundation
And left me out and wandering around
Mourning the and solitude that defined me then
Though my is a galaxy of subtleties
My complex intentions and aspirations do not at all
In the face of the crushing of actual time
I saw my ancestors as sad and
In the same way that my will squint back through a fog
Trying to see some version of all I meant to be in life
Their recollections pruned by the accidents of
What got thrown away and what gets talked at night
But she had her eventually
and I went back to twenty three

Eleven years I was traveling alone again
On an airplane from New Zealand to Perth, Western
Very alone, so far away from you and the that we had made
I watched a movie on the plane about Kerouac
A documentary deeper than the usual congratulations
interviewed his daughter,
Jan Kerouac, and she tore the history
She told about this deadbeat drinking, Three Stooges on TV
Not his paternity, abandoning the child
Taking refuge in his self-mythology
When she spoke I heard voice telling me about the adults who had
Abandoned you as a sweet kid and left you to precariously
And she spoke I looked in her face and saw you looking back at me
On a airplane seat screen at the bottom of the world
I saw a French-Canadian
And I heard echoing
A lineage of bad and strong daughters withstanding
She had black hair and freckles and pale just like you
And she told the hard truth and slayed the just like you
I saw the in the facade of posterity
I you so I went home

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

And then
And then the silence of
The Palace
The ocean
But in my tears now
gleams