Luyện nghe bài hát Leaving Beirut

So we left Beirut and I
He headed East to and the rest of it
I set out
I walked the or six miles to the last of the street lamps
And hunkered in the side dusk
Holding out my
In no hope at the ramshackle procession of home bound traffic
Success!
An ancient 'dolmus '
The ubiquitous, Arab, taxi drew up
I turned out my pockets and shrugged at the
" J'ai pas de "
" Venez! " A soft voice from the back
The driver lent wearily across and pushed open the back
I to look inside at the two men there
One besuited, bespectacled, moustached, irritated, distant,
The other, the one who had spoken,
Frail, fifty five-ish, bald, sallow, in a short sleeved blue cotton shirt
With one biro in the breast
A clerk maybe, slightly sunken in the
"Venez!" He again, and smiled
"Mais pas de l'argent"
"Oui, Oui, d'accord, Venez!"

Are these the people that we bomb
Are we so sure mean us harm
Is this our pleasure, punishment or
Is a mountain that we really want to climb
The road is hard, and long
Put down that two by
This man would never turn you from his
Oh George! Oh George!
That Texas education must have fucked you up you were very small

He beckoned with a small motion of his hand
together like a child waving goodbye
The driver put my old Hofner guitar in the boot my rucksack
And off we
" Vous etes Francais, "
" Non, "
" Ah! "
" Est-ce que vous Anglais, Monsieur? "
"Non, je regrette"
And so on
In small talk strangers, his French alien but correct
Mine halting but to please
A lift, after all, is a
moustache left us brusquely
And some miles later the dolmus at a crossroads lit by a single lightbulb
Swung through a U-turn and stopped in a of dust
I opened the and got out
But my benefactor made no move to
The driver my guitar and rucksack at my feet
And away my thanks returned to the boot
to reappear with a pair of alloy crutches
Which he leaned the rear wing of the Mercedes.
He into the car and lifted my companion out
Only one leg, the second trouser leg pinned beneath a vacant hip
" Monsieur, si voulez, ca sera un honneur pour nous
Si venez avec moi a la maison pour manger avec ma femme "

I was 17 my mother, bless her heart, fulfilled my summer dream
She handed me the to the car
We down to Paris, fuelled with Dexedrine and booze
Got bust in Antibes by the
And in Naples by the wops
But everyone was kind to us, we were the English
Our had helped them win the war
we all knew what we were fighting for
But now an Englishman abroad is a US stooge
The bulldog is a poodle snapping the scoundrel's last refuge

"Ma femme", thank God! but not queer
The taxi off leaving us in the dim light of the swinging bulb
No building in
the hell
"Merci monsieur"
"Bon, Venez!"
His creased in pleasure, he set off in front of me
Swinging his leg between the crutches with care
Up the dusty side into the darkness
After half an we'd gone maybe half a mile
When on the I made out the low profile of a building
He called out in Arabic to announce our
And after some scuffling inside a was lit
And the changing angle of light in the wide crack under the
Signalled the of someone within
The door creaked open and there, holding a biblical oil lamp
a squat, moustached woman, stooped smiling up at us
She aside to let us in and as she turned
I saw the reason for her
She carried on her back a hump
I nodded and back at her in greeting, fighting for control
The between the one-legged man and his monstrous wife
Almost too for me

Is too much for us
Should gentleness be filed along empathy
We feel for someone child
Every time a smart bomb its sums and gets it wrong
Someone else's child dies and equities in rise
America, America, please us when we call
You got hip-hop, be-bop, hustle and
You got Atticus
You got Russell
You got of speech
You got beaches, wildernesses and malls
Don't let the might, the right, fuck it all up
For you and the of the world

They excitedly
She went to take his in routine of care
He chiding,
We have a
She by her faux pas
Took my things and laid them gently in the
"Du the?"
We sat on meagre cushions in one of the single room
The was earth packed hard and by one wall a raised platform
Some six foot by covered by a simple sheet, the bed
The hunchback busied herself with small copper pots over an hearth
And brought us tea, hot and
And so to
Flat, bread, + thin
Cooked in an iron skillet the open hearth
Then and dipped into the soft insides of female sea urchins
My hostess did not eat, I ate her
She would hear of nothing else, I was guest
And then she behind a curtain
And left the men to sit drinking thimbles full of
poured from a small bottle with a faded label
Soon she reappeared,
Carrying in her arms their pride and joy, child.
I'd never seen a squint that
So severe that as one eye looked out the other behind its nose

Not in my name, Tony, you great war you
Terror is still terror, whosoever gets to frame the
History's not written by the vanquished or the
Now we are Khan, Lucretia Borghia, Son of Sam
In 1961 they took this into their home
I wonder became of them
In the cauldron that was
If I could find now, could I make amends?
How the story end?

And so to bed, me is, not them
Of they slept on the floor behind a curtain
Whilst I lay awake all night on their bed
Then came the and then their quiet stirrings
Careful not to wake the
I in great pretence
And took the proffered bowl of water heated up and
And sipped my coffee in its cup
And then with much "merci-ing" and bowing and shaking of
We left the woman to her
And we men made our way to the crossroads
The painful of our progress accentuated by the brilliant morning light
The dolmus duly
My gave me one crutch and leaning on the other
Shook my hand and
"Merci, monsieur," I
" De "
" And merci a votre femme, elle est gentille "
Giving up his crutch
He allowed himself to be into the back seat again
"Bon voyage, monsieur," he
And half bowed as the taxi headed towards the city
I turned North, my over my shoulder
And the first hot of wind
Quickly dried the salt tears from my cheeks.