Luyện nghe bài hát Working Girls

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

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

There were lines of sailors, of speed
upon the Footpath where she stared
When were quiet, as night deferred to dawn.
And the cups played red rover
In the breeze scuttled through the streets
left 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 their husbands
Perhaps shared the shame,
'cause streets and Weddingrings are sometimes much the same.

She tap-danced the buskers
Near the shouting blues songs
They remembered from their years of dreamtime radio.
And the years withdrew behind her
To let the girl 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 upon her face maps of roads she'd travelled,
Lined with people throwing stones they didn't understand,
That a half an hour of tenderness (perhaps they the same)
working streets and Weddingrings are sometimes much the same.