Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of The Architect Angel

The angel held juda ranch.
Just a dirty down on the borderline.
Where he mastered and hustled young cattle for slaughter
And dated daughter.
From the cellar aways to the and all across the plains
Broke electric of religious strain,
And he was never an addict, he wore scars on his veins.
Like a young girl holds her first pimp, he held his in.
From bars and church bazaars, the hunger slowly came
With vulgar faces from vulgar lookin' for a game.
Well, gun handles and chamber grease
And hydroplanes.
The bullets burn tv silver, bearin' great cowboys' names.
Now with 14 of gun barrel, smokin' from the lid,
Spurs on black bootheels, he said "they call 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 slung low like a hot kid-sister
Tied back to his leg like he do.
He was the step he called the quickman twister.
His six-guns were through.
His tongue hung low like sawdust scrapin' the plains.
He crawled up outside the ranch.
And started callin' the names.

And now the architect stood, in one hand a staff, the other a gun.
He held the staff high in the wind. the gun was like a in the sun.
He howlin' like a monsoon wind. drew fast. the job was done.
At night the moon stretched tight light the plains,
As real cowboys sat around real 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.