Luyện nghe bài hát King Park

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

Shots were from an SUV heading northbound, Eastown
The a rival but they didn't hit the target this time.
They hit a kid we think had to do with it.

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

I want to see it where I couldn't it happened.
I to see it all first hand this time.
I want to what it felt like.
So I float behind police lines, the scene in fragments of memories.
I to know what his mother 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 to know what 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 see it up close how could you ever forget how senseless death, how precious life.
I to be there when the bullet 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 ran to mark the crime scene.
Everybody to catch a glimpse of what was happening
Of what was going on between the and all the cop cars.

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

And I visit them, houses. Inside my dream I visit them.
My spirit, high and high up over King Park, leaves the crime scene, travels further back
Till far before the shooting, through windows, to their living rooms.
I see them younger this time, playing and doing homework.
All these marks of youth soon transformed coldly into for fights and stupid feuds.
For ruins wrapped in gold. And cruelly I recall why I come: To find a reason. But
There cannot be a reason, not for death, not this. Not like this.
Three days they made funeral plans. The family.
Three days a mother had to bury her son.
Not far away the shooter holed up in a hotel near to the highway a friend and the gun.
That gun.
He fled immediately but was identified by witnesses, his on TV.
Only 20 years old, called him "Grandpa." He was older than the others by a year,
two.
And he was safe for until somebody saw him there
and the authorities
Who surrounded the hotel, first arresting an accomplice attempting to flee
Then chasing him up the staircase to the floor he'd stayed. He closed the door hard
Behind him, himself in the room.
could've kicked in the door but knew the gun was still with him
One he'd already used and so they feared what do.
I floated up through the window of a to the West.
I out to the hallway, tried 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 hope and
said, "There is always a chance to rectify what taken, make your peace in the world."
I thought to slip through the door, I could've entered the
I the burden of murder, it sthe earth to the core.
Felt like the world was collapsing. we heard him speak
"Can I still get into if I kill myself?
Can I get into heaven if I kill myself?
Can I ever be cause I killed that kid?
It was an accident I it wasn't meant for him!
And if I turn it on me, if I even it out, can I get in or will they send me to hell?
Can I get into heaven if I kill myself?"
I the hotel behind, don't want to know how it ends.