Luyện nghe bài hát Plastic Pattern People

Glad to get high and see the slow world.
Just to reach, and touch, the notes floating.
Worlds spinning orbit quicker than 9/8ths Brubeck.
We come now, frantically searching for 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,
about the bottom of glasses, The side of your universe.

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

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

John.

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

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

Up and a silly ladder run the notes, without the words.
Words are important for the mind, but the are for the soul.
Davis, So what?
Cannonball, Fiddler, Mercy.
Dexter Gordon, One Up.
Donald Byrd, playing Cristo, but what words?

Would you like to survive on Call on Ella and Jose Happiness.
with Smokey, Bill Medley, Bobby Taylor, and Otis Redding.
Soul music frustrations are washed by drums, Nina and Miriam.

Congo, Mongo, me, senseless, bongo, Tonto.
Flash dream worlds of STP and LSD.
kills 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.
a call comes for you to cry elsewhere.
We all cry, but tell me.

Must our tears be