Luyện nghe bài hát Working Girls

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

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

were lines of sailors, lines of speed
Lines upon the Footpath where she
things were quiet, as night deferred to dawn.
And the cups played red rover
In the breeze that through the streets
left for greener fields
While stretched and yawned

And her called her Mary
After Magdalene,
were virgins in the morning,
She had in the pain;
And the wives would clutch husbands
they shared the shame,
'cause working streets and Weddingrings are sometimes the same.

She tap-danced the buskers
the subway shouting blues songs
They remembered from their teenage of dreamtime radio.
And the years behind her eyes
To let the little look out
In simple innocence
At in the sand.

And her mother called her
Mary Magdalene,
She had long dark and massage oil
And a key to let you in;
And the lines upon her face were of roads she'd travelled,
with 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.