Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of The Architect Angel

The architect held juda ranch.
Just a dirty mile on the borderline.
Where he blastin' and hustled young cattle for slaughter
And dated daughter.
From the cellar aways to the attics and all the plains
electric static of religious 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.
desert bars and church bazaars, the hunger slowly came
With faces from vulgar places lookin' for a game.
Well, ivory gun handles and chamber
And hydroplanes.
The bullets burn from tv silver, bearin' great 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 lonely zenith nightmares, that's just what they did.
Oh, how he played out his scenes, on dreams.
Well, his holster slung low like a hot
Tied to his leg like he gonna do.
He was stompin' the step he the quickman twister.
His six-guns were through.
His tongue hung low like scrapin' across the plains.
He up outside the juda ranch.
And started the angel 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' a monsoon wind. drew fast. the job was done.
At the moon stretched tight light 'cross the plains,
As real sat around real campfire flames,
And the wolf called as if to explain to his son
The way the was won.
The was finally won.
The way the was won.