Luyện nghe bài hát True Story Of What Was

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

And sleep's open window
the drops of rain
History is writing a book
For every pain

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

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

Real is
of what you try
To say
Or say

is real relentless
While words and dismay
Words that change their
Though the story remains the

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

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

Then in a flash, the light horizon
Spanning a black
Is sucked the vanishing point
And quiet rushes

To for the downbeat
In a tabla
To in the darkness
For who looks like me

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

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

A lifetime of

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

I hereby
Whatever I've said
With this