Luyện nghe bài hát The Hole In The Map

THE IN THE MAP

Music, Ferrante/Lyrics, Lorraine Feather

below the Equator,
Beneath a sun
a counterfeit paradise
And oblivion,
Or so told our hero,
In 1925,
As he back to the river
That ate so alive.

It starts as a trickle in the and snow,
With more an America still to go.
Steamrollers the sea,
as New York City.
Passable only in the of the heat,
In the it rises 40 feet.
The hell is a heady trap,
So dont down
The in the map.

Youd bet such a forest would you,
You would that bet.
You thought you about fortitude
As a cadet!
The pranks, the floggings,
Were compared to this,
As you hack through the
hanging boas hiss.

There are bugs thatll kill you with a bite,
Turn your cotton to threads in a night,
Homicidal no bigger than seeds,
millipedes.
Still you know you love it and you wont be
Though you are fully unafraid.
Hits your heart a thunderclap,
So dont fall
The in the map

in the comfort of Devon,
You sweeten tea and sigh
now to sleep till eleven,
And the old world go by.
You at your civilized heaven,
And say at last, youll stay,
But by the gates
The waits
To quietly you away.
you away,

to the river.
Its only in the worst of the heat,
In the it rises 40 feet.
The green hell is a trap.
Dont .

There are bugs thatll kill you with a bite,
Turn your britches to threads in a night,
Homicidal gnats no bigger seeds,
millipedes.