Luyện nghe bài hát Lisa's Separation

She up the mirror, hid his photo in the
drawer. The sketches he made for her were rip-
ped and across the floor. All memories and
promises and plans made were scratched or
burned as laid her head down for the night.
Still the flowed day and night. There's
no escape, no remission . . . This one's us in
Paris, and one's us in Rome. That mess was him
in plasticene, those were him in stone. And
still she no explanation why he left without a
word. It seemed such an ordinary night. Still the
pictures flowed the night. No escape, no
remission . . . They burned his few and
they him in sand. They spent his coins in cof-
fee bars and calmly their hands. The only
hint of retribution was a of intuition--left with
dirty hands without a fight. How the flowed
through the night. Made their escape, a
. . . His ghost peeps through the curtains
gently her name. It hovers over crushed
trying to explain. And maybe it takes 40
years of patience, swimming the tears. He'll
her each and every lonely night. Still the pic-
tures flow the night. No escape, no
separation.