Luyện nghe bài hát Working Girls

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

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

were lines of sailors, lines of speed
Lines upon the Footpath she stared
When things were quiet, as night to dawn.
And the coke played red rover
In the breeze that scuttled the streets
Taxies left for greener
While Sydney stretched and

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

She with the buskers
Near the subway blues songs
They remembered from teenage years of dreamtime radio.
And the years withdrew behind her
To let the little girl out
In childish innocence
At in the sand.

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