Luyện nghe bài hát King Park

Another shooting on the southeast side. This a drive-by,
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 week?

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

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

I want to see it I couldn't when it happened.
I want to see it all first hand 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 float there, time. I want to capture it accurately.
I want to know what the color of the blood was spilling out from the tarp 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 when the bullet hit.

And the crowd poured out as the shots drowned siren sounds, out of there houses now
And over front yards, all the way up to the place where the 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 hit? Where'd it hit And who could've fired it?"
wondering, "How did it happen again? And is he dead? These children. Our kids."
Everybody wondering how far they were where the victims lived.

And I visit them, their houses. Inside my I visit them.
My spirit, soaring and high up over King Park, leaves the crime scene, travels further back
Till far before the shooting, through their windows, to their rooms.
I see them younger this time, playing games and homework.
All these marks of youth transformed coldly into stone for fights and stupid feuds.
For wrapped in gold. And cruelly I recall why I have come: To find a reason. But
cannot be a reason, not for death, not like this. Not like this.
Three days they made funeral plans. The family.
Three days later a had to bury her son.
Not far away the holed up in a hotel near to the highway with a friend and the gun.
That gun.
He immediately but was identified by witnesses, his picture on TV.
Only 20 old, they called him "Grandpa." He was older than the others by a year,
two.
And he was safe for awhile until somebody saw him
and the authorities
Who surrounded the hotel, first arresting an accomplice while attempting to
Then chasing him up the staircase to the floor where stayed. He closed the door hard
Behind him, locked in the room.
They kicked in the door but knew the gun was still with him
One he'd already and so they 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 heard them to reason, get him to open the door.
His uncle and pleading, half-collapsed 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 could've entered the
I the burden of murder, it sthe earth to the core.
Felt like the world was collapsing. Then we heard him
"Can I still get into heaven if I kill
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 meant 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 if I kill myself?"
I left the behind, don't want to know how it ends.