Luyện nghe bài hát Ice

With your mercury in the missionary times,
And eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
And your cross, and your voice like chimes,
Oh, who among them do think could bury you?
With your well protected at last,
And your visions which you place on the grass,
And your flesh silk, and your face like glass,
Who among them do think could carry you?
lady 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 your like metal and your belt like lace,
And your of cards missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess
With silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and gypsy hymns,
Who among them would try to impress
lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my drums,
I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I

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

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

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