Luyện nghe bài hát Plastic Pattern People

Glad to get and see the slow motion world.
to reach, and touch, the half notes floating.
Worlds spinning quicker than 9/8ths Dave Brubeck.
We come now, searching for Thomas Moore, rainbow villages.
Up on suddenly, Mingus and our man Abdul Malik,
to add bass, to a pit of insecurity.

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

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

Your plasticity is 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 puzzles?

John.

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

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

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

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

Congo, Mongo, me, senseless, bongo, Tonto.
Flash through 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.
Until a comes for you to cry elsewhere.
We must all cry, but me.

Must our tears be