Luyện nghe bài hát True Story Of What Was

The light flickering rhythm
Of the big console TV
Is on the ceiling
Of another spree

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

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

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

Real is
of what you try
To say
Or say

Real is real
While words and dismay
Words that their tune
Though the remains the same

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

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

in a flash, the light blue horizon
Spanning a black
Is into the vanishing point
And quiet rushes

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

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

a collection of recollections
Conversations
Of the of marks we make
When we're trying to make a pen work

A of them

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

I amend
Whatever ever said
this sigh