Luyện nghe bài hát King Park

Another shooting on the side. This a drive-by, mid-day
Outside of the bus stop, by and Franklin. Or near there.
Not far from the park. About a from where the other shooting was last month.
Or was it last

were fired from an SUV heading northbound, Eastown
The target a but they didn't hit the target this time.
They hit a kid we had nothing to do with it.

And I travel backwards time and space and I disintegrate, become invisible.

I want to see it where I couldn't it happened.
I want to see it all first this time.
I want to know what it like.
So I float behind police lines, reconstruct the scene in of memories.
I want to know what his looked like up close, I want to see her leaning over his body.
So I float there, time. I want to capture it accurately.
I want to know the color of the blood was spilling out from the tarp onto the concrete.

I want to write it all so I can always remember.

If you could see it up close how could you ever forget how senseless death, how life.
I want to be there when the hit.

And the crowd poured out as the shots drowned into sounds, out of there houses now
And over front yards, all the way up to the place where the police tape ran to the crime scene.
trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening
Of what was going on the ambulance and all the cop cars.

gossiping,
"Whose kid got hit? Where'd it hit him? And who could've it?"
Everybody wondering, "How did it happen again? And is he These children. Our kids."
Everybody wondering how far they were from the victims lived.

And I visit them, houses. Inside my dream I visit them.
My spirit, soaring high and high up over King Park, leaves the scene, travels further back
Till far before the shooting, through their windows, to living rooms.
I see them this time, playing games and doing homework.
All these marks of soon transformed coldly into stone for fights and stupid feuds.
For ruins wrapped in gold. And cruelly I recall why I have To find a reason. But
There cannot be a reason, not for death, not like this. Not this.
Three days they made funeral plans. The family.
Three days later a mother had to her son.
Not far away the shooter holed up in a hotel to the highway with a friend and the gun.
same gun.
He fled but was identified by witnesses, his picture on TV.
Only 20 years old, they him "Grandpa." He was older than the others by a year,
two.
And he was for awhile until somebody saw him there
and the authorities
Who surrounded the hotel, first arresting an while attempting to flee
Then chasing him up the staircase to the floor where he'd stayed. He closed the door
him, locked himself in the room.
They could've in the door but knew the gun was still with him
One he'd already used and so feared what he'd do.
I floated up through the of a room to the West.
I hovered out to the hallway, to listen in.
I heard them to reason, get him to open the door.
His uncle begging and pleading, to the floor.
He preached of and forgiveness
said, "There is always a chance to rectify what you've taken, your peace in the world."
I thought to slip through the door, I entered the room
I felt the of murder, it sthe earth to the core.
Felt like the was collapsing. Then we heard him speak
"Can I still get heaven if I kill myself?
Can I still get into heaven if I kill
Can I be forgiven cause I killed that kid?
It was an accident I swear it meant for him!
And if I it on me, if I even it out, can I still get in or will they send me to hell?
Can I still get heaven if I kill myself?"
I left the hotel behind, want to know how it ends.