Luyện nghe bài hát Maps In Her Wrists And Arms

In the tent of powder and
Vultures pick at a carcass that feeds by
Longing to
Waits to hear the
Of their wings slowly as they fly away
Some will stay for
There's maps in her wrists and
And the dust lies snow around the bed
Glowing white, a sculpture of
Or a jewel like a crumpled, moon
Shivers in her
If she too near
It shatters so quickly, leaves behind
The old lady
Sometimes when she her eyes
The has filled with flowing sheets of silk
There's in her wrists and arms
And the morphine surges bread and bliss
In the tent of powder and
She can hear some violins, the strings
Threading through the