Luyện nghe bài hát Sellers of Flowers

The sellers of buy up old roses
They pull off dead petals, old heads of lettuce
And sell 'em as new ones, for cheaper and
But die by the morning, so who is the winner

Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers, maybe

winters coming, soon after summer
It runs faster, faster, chasing off
We go from a warm sun to a white sun
We go from a sun to only a small one

When I was a small girl, I walked through the
Holding my dad's hand, hand
That night were roses, lit up in glass boxes
The heat would keep them from freezing in winter

We never bought them but somebody must
Maybe made it or maybe they froze up
Before any person had put them in
And hoped that they'd still be alive by the

the winner
Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers,
Not the tellers, of the stories,
Not the fathers, not children,
Not those walking on a night,
Through a memory forgetting,
Who's the winner, who's the
Maybe winter, maybe

Somebody steps on a light a tunnel
They're a piece of their mind in the rubble
Hold on, I let go, I want to know

But no one lives long enough to see the
To know any answers, to know the point is
To know if the winter came closer
Than on that night when I with my father

A small piece of ice, lodged in my
in my thoughts, lodged in my eyes
Cold all around, cold all
Warm from inside, from inside

Who's the
Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers,
Not the tellers, of the stories,
Not the fathers, not children,
the winner
Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers,
Not the tellers, of the stories,
Not the fathers, not children,
Not walking on a dark night,
Through a memory forgetting,

the winner, who's the winner
Maybe winter, maybe
Who's the winner, the winner
Maybe winter, maybe
Who's the winner, the winner