Luyện nghe bài hát Junta

What we wage
in the of day,
left decaying
for the to see.

Conakry,
September, two nine.
Dadis,
junta chief, will not
his
to democratic law.
Thousands
to that he withdraw.

trapped.

gather,
drawn.
Fire.

Butchery in tear gas,
bayonettes eyes.
Flesh across the grass,
knives sever robes thighs.
Women with gun barrels,
bullet through a head,
howls of humans
as they away the dead.

Red berets,
guard,
murder-crazed,
a scarred.
Stores loot,
ribs they
boot.
wrapped.

du
jamais-vu,
said.

nous,
pled
to god.
At the morgue a
out her son.
No remains found.
A father
for his gun,
his bound
in an base,
by soldiers in turn,
til a discerned
her face,
and, shamed, set her
free.

She no word to her doctor,
for fear her disgrace her kin.
For weeks she not sleep or dream.

Camara denied for the atrocity:
The beyond my control.
The chief of his drew a pistol
and a round in the presidents
skull.

He survives,
abdicates.
A of

compete in
first
vote.

the year.

unclear.
Will of the
Guineans
Cond.

The suicide,
the son found,
the alive.
The alive.