Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of The Architect Angel

The architect held juda ranch.
Just a dirty down on the borderline.
he mastered blastin' and hustled young cattle for slaughter
And juda's daughter.
From the cellar to the attics and all across the plains
Broke electric static of strain,
And though he was never an addict, he scars on his veins.
Like a young girl her first pimp, he held his Bible in.
From desert and church bazaars, the hunger slowly came
With vulgar faces from vulgar places for a game.
Well, gun handles and chamber grease
And hydroplanes.
The bullets burn from tv silver, bearin' cowboys' names.
Now 14 inches 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 what they did.
Oh, how he out his scenes, loaded on dreams.
Well, his holster low like a hot kid-sister
Tied back to his leg like he do.
He was stompin' the step he called the twister.
His were pumpin' through.
His hung low like sawdust scrapin' across the plains.
He up outside the juda ranch.
And started callin' the names.

And now the angel stood, in one hand a staff, the other 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 sat around real campfire flames,
And the county wolf called as if to to his son
The way the was won.
The west was won.
The way the was won.