Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of The Architect Angel

The architect held juda ranch.
a dirty mile down on the borderline.
Where he mastered blastin' and young cattle for slaughter
And juda's daughter.
From the aways to the attics and all across the plains
electric static of religious strain,
And though he was an addict, he wore scars on his veins.
Like a young girl holds her first pimp, he his Bible in.
From desert bars and bazaars, the hunger slowly came
With vulgar faces from vulgar lookin' for a game.
Well, ivory gun handles and chamber
And hydroplanes.
The bullets from tv silver, bearin' great 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 played out his scenes, on dreams.
Well, his holster slung low like a hot
Tied back to his leg like he do.
He was stompin' the step he the quickman twister.
His six-guns pumpin' through.
His tongue hung low sawdust scrapin' across the plains.
He crawled up the juda ranch.
And started the angel 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 howlin' a monsoon wind. drew fast. the job was done.
At night the moon stretched tight 'cross the plains,
As real cowboys sat 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.