Luyện nghe bài hát Plastic Pattern People

Glad to get high and see the motion world.
Just to reach, and touch, the half floating.
Worlds spinning orbit quicker than Dave Brubeck.
We come now, searching for Thomas Moore, rainbow villages.
Up on suddenly, Charlie and our man Abdul Malik,
to add bass, to a pit of insecurity.

You may be because you never meditate,
the bottom of glasses, The third side of your universe.

Add on Alice Coltrane and her strains.
Still no on blue black horizons.

Your is tested by a formless assault.
The sun can answer questions in tune, to all sacrifices.
But why would our new jazz age give us no more mind expanding

John.

Blow from under, always, and never, so the morning, the sun,
may scream of bending saxophones.

The third world arrives, Yusef Lateef, and Pharaoh Saunders.
With oboes straining to touch the of your unknown soul.
Ravi Shankar comes, with strings attached, prepared to stabilize your sense,
black rhythm.

Up and down a silly ladder run the notes, the words.
are important for the mind, but the notes are for the soul.
Miles Davis, So
Cannonball, Fiddler, Mercy.
Gordon, One Flight Up.
Donald Byrd, playing Cristo, but about words?

Would you like to survive on sadness? Call on Ella and Happiness.
Drift Smokey, Bill Medley, Bobby Taylor, and Otis Redding.
Soul music where are washed by drums, Nina and Miriam.

Congo, Mongo, me, senseless, bongo, Tonto.
Flash through worlds of STP and LSD.
Speed and sometimes musics call, is frustrated.
And the man is confused.

Our is our life pace, much too fast, not good.
I beg you to escape, and live, and all of the real.
Until a call for you to cry elsewhere.
We must all cry, but me.

Must our be white?