Luyện nghe bài hát Working Girls

She said she came from
Where the ashen and leaden ocean
Left her like the local boys, barren of
As we talked we watched the
down the window
in Darlinghurst,
Like a fish shop the past.

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

There were of sailors, lines of speed
Lines upon the Footpath she stared
When things were quiet, as deferred to dawn.
And the cups played red rover
In the breeze that scuttled through the
Taxies for greener fields
While stretched and yawned

And her mother called her
After Magdalene,
were virgins in the morning,
She had in the pain;
And the wives would clutch their
Perhaps shared the shame,
'cause working streets and are sometimes much the same.

She with the buskers
Near the subway shouting blues
remembered from their teenage years of dreamtime radio.
And the years withdrew her eyes
To let the little look out
In simple childish
At in the sand.

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