Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of The Architect Angel

The architect angel juda ranch.
a dirty mile down on the borderline.
Where he mastered blastin' and hustled cattle for slaughter
And juda's daughter.
From the aways to the attics and all across the plains
Broke electric static of strain,
And though he was never an addict, he wore on his veins.
Like a young holds her first pimp, he held his Bible in.
From desert bars and church bazaars, the slowly came
With vulgar faces from vulgar lookin' for a game.
Well, ivory gun and chamber grease
And hydroplanes.
The bullets burn from tv silver, great cowboys' names.
Now 14 inches of gun barrel, smokin' from the lid,
Spurs on straight black bootheels, he said "they me the brooklyn kid."
And in his zenith nightmares, well that's just what they did.
Oh, how he played out his scenes, on dreams.
Well, his holster slung low like a hot
Tied back to his leg he gonna do.
He was stompin' the step he called the twister.
His six-guns were through.
His hung low like sawdust scrapin' across the plains.
He crawled up the juda ranch.
And started callin' the names.

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