Luyện nghe bài hát Fever

In an open field at
To footfalls, I
Marching ants my temple zone
feet had no intention
They followed some draw
of their destination

From the slats of the factory
(where once did make rails)
Old death's peculiar
He didn't I was listening
So he crowed out and long
To the spiders and the and the dust of his conquests
and his hunger and his
I heard his feet
I heard him tap his
As if he had his own
On at the athenaeum

I caught his in my open mouth
I gagged and and spit them out
I him turn as he did hear
My tiny in his ear
I was already
Oh, I him coming

Shrapnel spinning from his
The sounding arms rake for my
I know then and hit my face
And I said these words

My dove is
Her breast is
My is home

And I said these magic

I down, down the anthill for days

My dove is
Her breast is
My dove is