Luyện nghe bài hát King Park

Another on the southeast 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 block from where the shooting was last month.
Or was it last

Shots fired from 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 where I when it happened.
I want to see it all hand this time.
I want to what it felt like.
So I float behind police lines, reconstruct the scene in 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, transcend time. I to capture it accurately.
I want to know what the color of the 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 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 ran to mark the crime scene.
Everybody to catch a glimpse of what was happening
Of what was on between the ambulance and all the cop cars.

gossiping,
"Whose kid got hit? Where'd it hit 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 where the victims lived.

And I visit them, their houses. Inside my I visit them.
My spirit, soaring high and high up over King Park, leaves the crime scene, travels 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 stone for and stupid feuds.
For ruins wrapped in gold. And 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 shooter holed up in a near to the highway with a friend and the gun.
That gun.
He fled immediately but was by witnesses, his picture on TV.
20 years old, they called him "Grandpa." He was older than the others by a year,
two.
And he was safe for awhile until saw him there
and notified the
Who the hotel, first arresting an accomplice while attempting to flee
Then chasing him up the to the floor where he'd stayed. He closed the door hard
Behind him, himself in the room.
They kicked in the door but knew the gun was still with him
One he'd already used and so they feared what 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 begging and pleading, half-collapsed to the floor.
He of hope 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 felt the of murder, it sthe earth to the core.
Felt the world was collapsing. Then we heard him speak
"Can I get into heaven if I kill myself?
Can I still get heaven if I kill myself?
Can I ever be forgiven cause I killed kid?
It was an I swear it wasn't meant for him!
And if I turn it on me, if I even it out, can I still get in or will send me to hell?
Can I still get into if I kill myself?"
I left the behind, don't want to know how it ends.