Luyện nghe bài hát True Story Of What Was

The light blue rhythm
Of the big console TV
Is on the ceiling
Of another insomniatic

And outside open window
Between the drops of
History is writing a book
For every pain

Oh, to up the clutter of echoes
Coming in and out of
Words spoken like
Sing and sing in my

And thing is, they seem
In my memory's dream
To be
To the story of what was

Real is
of what you try
To say
Or say

Real is real
While words distract and
that change their tune
Though the remains the same

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

screen, a smoke screen
Oh, to
Just for a moment, the
the frame

Then in a flash, the light horizon
a sudden black
Is into the vanishing point
And rushes back

To for the downbeat
In a tabla
To search in the
For someone who looks me

I'm not really 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 listening
I say to the
That sing and to me sitting
Now here on the front swing of my eyes

I amend
Whatever ever said
With this