Luyện nghe bài hát True Story Of What Was

The light blue flickering
Of the neighbor's big TV
Is on the ceiling
Of insomniatic spree

And outside sleep's open
Between the of rain
History is a recipe book
For earthly pain

Oh, to clean up the clutter of
Coming in and out of
Words like locusts
and sing in my head

And thing is, they often
In my memory's long
To be
To the true of what was

Real is
Regardless of you try
To say
Or say

is real relentless
While distract and dismay
Words that change tune
Though the story remains the

Words that fill me
And then are to drain
Dialogues that dither reminiscent
Of the way it likes to

screen, a smoke screen
Oh, to
for a moment, the picture
Outside the

Then in a flash, the blue horizon
Spanning a black
Is sucked the vanishing point
And quiet back

To search for the
In a symphony
To search in the
For who looks like me

Though I'm not who I said I was
Or who I I'd be

Just a of recollections
consisting
Of the kind of marks we
When we're to make a pen work again

A of them

I say to me, now here
I say to the
That and sing to me sitting
Now here on the front porch swing of my

I amend
Whatever ever said
With sigh