Luyện nghe bài hát The Priest They Called Him

"Fight tuberculosis, folks"
Christmas Eve, an old junkie selling Christmas
On North Street
The "Priest" they him
"Fight tuberculosis, folks"

People hurried by, gray shadows on a wall
It was getting late and no to score
He into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife
Cab just ahead under a streetlight

Boy got out a suitcase
Thin kid in school clothes
Familiar face, the Priest told
Watching the doorway.

"Reminds me of a long time ago"
The boy, there, with his
Unbuttoned, reaching into his pants for the cab fare
The cab drove away and turned the
The boy went inside a

"Hmm, yes, maybe," the suitcase was there in the
The boy in sight
Gone to get the keys, most likely, have to fast
He picked up the suitcase and started for the
Made it, glanced at the case
It didn't look like the case the boy had or any boy have
The Priest couldn't put his finger on what was so old about the
Old and dirty, quality leather and heavy
see what's inside

He turned Lincoln Park
Found an empty place and opened the
Two severed human that belonged to a young man
dark skin, shiny black leg hairs
Glittered in the dim
The legs had forced into the case
And he had to use his on the back of the case to shove them out
"Legs, yet," he and walked quickly away with the case.
Might bring a few dollars to

The buyer suspiciously
"Kind of a smell about it"
"It's Mexican leather"
"Well, some didn't cure it"
The buyer at the case with cold disfavor
"Not even sure he killed it, whatever it is
Three is the best I can do and it
But since is Christmas and you're the Priest"
He slipped three bills under the table the Priest's dirty hand
The Priest faded the street shadows, seedy and furtive
Three cents didn't buy a bag, less than a nickel
Say, that old Addie croaker told me not to come back
Unless I him the three cents I owe him
Yeah, isn't that a fruit for ya, blow your stack three lousy cents
The doctor was not to see him

"Now, what do you want? I you!"
The Priest laid three bills on the
The doctor put the money in his pocket and to scream
"I've had trouble! People been around!
I may my license!"
The Priest sat there
Eyes, old and heavy years of junk, on the doctor's face
"I write you a prescription"
The doctor jerked a drawer
And slid an ampule the table
"That's all I have in the office!" The stood up
"Take it and get out!" he screamed,
The Priest's did not change

The doctor added in quieter
"After all, I'm a man
And I shouldn't be bothered by like you"
"Is that all you have for me? One quarter G?
Couldn't you me a nickel?"
"Get out, get out, call the police I tell you"
"All right, doctor, I'm going"

Of course it was cold and far walk to rooming
A street, room on the top floor
"These stairs," coughed the
There himself up along the bannister
He went the bathroom
wall panels, toilet dripping
And got his from under the washbasin
Wrapped in brown paper, back to his
Get drop in the dropper

He up his sleeve
Then he heard a groan from door
Room 18, the Mexican kid there
The Priest had him on the stairs
And saw the kid was
But he never spoke because he want any juvenile connections
Bad in any language

The Priest had had enough bad in his life
He heard the groan again, a groan he could
No mistaking groan and what it meant
"Maybe he had an or something.
In any case, I can't enjoy my priestly
With that coming through the wall"
Thin you understand

The put down his dropper
Cold hall and on the door of Room 18
"Quien es?"
"It's the Priest, kid, I next door"
He could hear hobbling across the floor

A bolt slid, the boy there in his underwear shorts
Eyes black with pain, he started to
The Priest him over to the bed
"What's wrong, son?"
"It's my legs, seor,
And now I am medicine"

The could see the cramps
Like knots of wood in the young legs
Dark shiny black leg
"A few years ago I damaged in a bicycle race
It was that the cramps started"
And now he has the leg cramps
With junk interest

The old stood there, feeling the boy groan
He inclined his as if in prayer, went back and got his dropper
"It's just a G, kid"
"I do not much, seor"

The boy was sleeping when the Priest Room 18
He went back to his and sat down on the bed
Then it hit him like silent snow
All the gray yesterdays
He sat there, the immaculate fix
And he was himself a priest
There was no need to one