Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of The Architect Angel

The architect angel held ranch.
Just a mile down on the borderline.
he mastered blastin' and hustled young cattle for slaughter
And juda's daughter.
From the cellar aways to the attics and all across the
Broke static of religious strain,
And though he was an addict, he wore scars on his veins.
Like a young girl holds her pimp, he held his Bible in.
From desert bars and church bazaars, the hunger came
With faces from vulgar places lookin' for a game.
Well, ivory gun and chamber grease
And hydroplanes.
The bullets burn from tv silver, bearin' cowboys' names.
Now with 14 of gun barrel, smokin' from the lid,
on straight black bootheels, he said "they call me the brooklyn kid."
And in his lonely zenith nightmares, well that's just what did.
Oh, how he out his scenes, loaded on dreams.
Well, his holster slung low like a hot
Tied to his leg like he gonna do.
He was stompin' the step he called the twister.
His six-guns pumpin' through.
His tongue hung low like scrapin' across the plains.
He crawled up outside the ranch.
And callin' the angel names.

And now the architect angel stood, in one hand a staff, the a gun.
He held the staff high in the wind. the gun was a piece in the sun.
He started like a monsoon wind. drew fast. the job was done.
At night the moon stretched tight 'cross the plains,
As real cowboys sat around campfire flames,
And the wolf called as if to explain to his son
The way the was won.
The west was won.
The way the was won.