Luyện nghe bài hát Ice

With mercury mouth in the missionary times,
And your eyes smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
And your silver cross, and your voice chimes,
Oh, who them do they think could bury you?
your pockets well protected at last,
And streetcar visions which you place on the grass,
And your like silk, and your face like glass,
Who them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says no man comes,
My eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I

With sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your face,
Who them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the swims,
And your match-book songs and gypsy hymns,
Who them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says no man comes,
My eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, I wait?

The kings of Tyrus their convict list
Are waiting in line for their kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would happen this,
But who them really wants just to kiss you?
your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist
lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed says that no man comes,
My eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, all did decide
To show you where the dead are that they used to hide.
But why did they you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the for the farm,
But the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet that no man comes,
My eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I

With your sheet-metal of Cannery Row,
And magazine-husband who one day just had to go,
And gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ
Now you stand with thief, you're on his parole
With your holy which your fingertips fold,
And saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you could destroy you
Sad-eyed of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my drums,
Should I them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, I wait?