Luyện nghe bài hát Working Girls

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

And her mother called her
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 lines of sailors, lines of
upon the Footpath where she stared
When things were quiet, as deferred to dawn.
And the coke played red rover
In the breeze that scuttled the streets
left for greener fields
While Sydney stretched and

And her called her Mary
Mary Magdalene,
There virgins in the morning,
She had sisters in the
And the wives would their husbands
Perhaps they the shame,
'cause streets and Weddingrings are sometimes much the same.

She tap-danced with the
Near the subway blues songs
They remembered from their teenage years of radio.
And the years withdrew behind her
To let the little look out
In simple childish
At in the sand.

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