Luyện nghe bài hát Working Girls

She said she from Portland
Where the skies and leaden ocean
Left her like the local boys, of emotion
As we we watched the raindrops
Running the window
in Darlinghurst,
Like a shop from the past.

And her mother called her
Mary Magdalene,
To her beauty
have been the greatest sin
It was a profile in the neon and a Kings Cross lean
To half an of tending someone else's tangled dream.

There were of sailors, lines of speed
Lines upon the Footpath where she
When were quiet, as night deferred to dawn.
And the coke played red rover
In the that scuttled through the streets
Taxies left for fields
While stretched and yawned

And her mother called her
Mary Magdalene,
There were in the morning,
She had in the pain;
And the would clutch their husbands
Perhaps shared the shame,
'cause working streets and Weddingrings are much the same.

She tap-danced the buskers
the subway shouting blues songs
They remembered from their years of dreamtime radio.
And the years withdrew her eyes
To let the little look out
In childish innocence
At in the sand.

And her called her Mary
Mary Magdalene,
She had long hair and massage oil
And a key to let you in;
And the lines upon her face were of roads she'd travelled,
Lined with people throwing because they didn't understand,
That a half an hour of tenderness (perhaps they the same)
working streets and Weddingrings are sometimes much the same.