Luyện nghe bài hát Distortion

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

I do
When I was a kid and that life ends and is just over
That a comes where we no longer get to say or do anything
And then what? I guess just
I to my mom that I hoped to do something important with my life
Not be famous, but remembered a little more
To echo my actual end
My mom at this kid trying to wriggle his way out of mortality
Of the final feral scream
But I held that hope and up wondering what dying 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 room by the
they talked me into reading a thing from the bible
About walking through a in the shadow of death
But I understand the words
I thought of walking through a valley and a shadow
a backpack and a tent
But that dead body next to me spoke and metaphor-free

In December
After having spent the summer and fall mostly alone around
The country was spiraling into war
and mania, little were everywhere
I was living on the periphery as a three year old
Wrapped up in doing what I and
it was and painting on newsprint
Sleeping in without asking permission and eating all the fruit
the tree like Tarzan or Walt Whitman,
voracious, devouring life, singing my
But that I was shaken by a pregnancy scare
From someone who I'd been for only one night
Many states away, who I hadn't planned to keep
A young and over-confident animal night
The of the idea of fatherhood
at three destroyed my foundation
And left me freaked out and wandering
Mourning the independence and that defined me then
my life is a galaxy of subtleties
My complex intentions and do not matter at all
In the face of the crushing flow of actual
I saw my as sad and misunderstood
In the same way that my descendants will back through a fog
Trying to see some polluted version of all I to be in life
recollections pruned by the accidents of time
What got thrown away and what gets about at night
But she had her eventually
and I back to being twenty three

Eleven years later I was alone again
On an airplane from New to Perth, Western Australia
Very alone, so far away from you and the that we had made
I watched a movie on the plane about Jack
A documentary going than the usual congratulations
They his daughter,
Jan Kerouac, and she tore through the
She told about deadbeat drinking, watching Three Stooges on TV
Not acknowledging his paternity, abandoning the
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 grow
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 French-Canadian
And I heard suffering
A lineage of bad parents and strong withstanding
She had black hair and freckles and pale just like you
And she told the hard and slayed the gods just like you
I saw the in the facade of posterity
I missed you so I home

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

And then
And then the silence of
The Night
The blurring
But in my right now
Light