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 watched the
Running the window
in Darlinghurst,
Like a fish from the past.

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

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

And her mother her Mary
After Magdalene,
There were in the morning,
She had sisters in the
And the wives would clutch husbands
Perhaps shared the shame,
'cause working streets and are sometimes much the same.

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

And her mother called her
After 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 stones because they didn't understand,
That a half an hour of tenderness (perhaps shared the same)
working streets and Weddingrings are sometimes much the same.