Luyện nghe bài hát Working Girls

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

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

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

And her mother called her
After Magdalene,
were virgins in the morning,
She had sisters in the
And the wives would their husbands
Perhaps they 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 teenage of dreamtime radio.
And the years withdrew behind her
To let the little girl out
In childish innocence
At in the sand.

And her mother her Mary
After Magdalene,
She had long dark and massage oil
And a key to let you in;
And the lines upon her face were maps of roads travelled,
Lined people throwing stones 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.