Luyện nghe bài hát King Park

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

Shots were fired from an SUV northbound, Eastown
The target a rival but didn't hit the target this time.
hit a kid we think 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 when it happened.
I want to see it all first this time.
I to know what it felt like.
So I behind police lines, reconstruct the scene in fragments of memories.
I want to know what his mother looked up close, I want to see her leaning over his body.
So I there, transcend time. I want to capture it accurately.
I want to know what the 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 forget how senseless death, how precious life.
I want to be there when the hit.

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

gossiping,
"Whose kid got Where'd it hit him? And who could've fired it?"
Everybody wondering, "How did it again? And is he dead? 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 their rooms.
I see them younger this time, games and doing homework.
All these marks of youth soon transformed coldly into for fights and stupid feuds.
For wrapped in gold. And cruelly I recall why I have 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 holed up in a hotel near 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 called him "Grandpa." He was than the others by a year,
two.
And he was safe for awhile until saw him there
and the authorities
Who the hotel, first arresting an accomplice while attempting to flee
Then chasing him up the staircase to the floor where he'd stayed. He closed the hard
him, locked himself in the room.
They could've kicked in the door but knew the gun was still him
One he'd already used and so feared what he'd do.
I up through the window of a room to the West.
I out to the hallway, tried to listen in.
I them trying to reason, get him to open the door.
His uncle begging and pleading, to the floor.
He of hope and forgiveness
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 the room
I the burden of murder, it sthe earth to the core.
Felt like the was collapsing. Then we heard him speak
"Can I get into heaven if I kill myself?
Can I still get into heaven if I myself?
Can I ever be forgiven cause I killed that
It was an accident I swear it wasn't for him!
And if I turn it on me, if I even it out, can I still get in or will they me to hell?
Can I still get into heaven if I myself?"
I left the behind, don't want to know how it ends.