Luyện nghe bài hát Nighthawk Postcards

there's a drizzle down the plateglass
as a neon swizzle stick stirrin up the sultry air
and a biscuit of a buttery cue ball moon
rollin' maverick an obsidian sky
as the go groanin' and wheezin',
on the corner I'm freezin';
on a boulevard at a midnight road
I'm across town from STREET
with the knots of moviegoers and out of towners
on the
and the buildings towering above
lit like dominoes or black
all the car salesmen dressed up in
Checkerboard slacks
and Grant wrap-around,
pacing in front of SCHLEIB
$39.95
barkers at a shootin' gallery
they throw out kind of a Texas Guinan
"Hello sucker, we like money
just as well as anybody here"
or they you the P.T. Barnum bit
"There's a born every minute
you just happened to be comin' along at the time"
over here now
you know... all the sailors are on the stroll
in a of "LIKE NEW," "NEW PAINT,"
decent air and AM-FM dreams
and the piss yellow cabs
stacked up in the zones waitin' like
machines
to be ticking off a joy ride to a place
waitin' in like "truckers welcome" diners
with lots full of
Peterbilts, Kenworths, and the like, and
they're hiballin' with bankrupt brakes, driven
under paid, over fed, a day and a dollar short
but I got my lips around a bottle and
my foot on the throttle and I'm standin' on the
standin' on the like a "just in town"
jasper, on a street corner a gasper lookin
' for some of Cheshire billboard grin
stroking a goateed chin, and using parking
as sticks on the inebriated stroll
with my eyelids propped at half mast
but you know... at Chubb's Pool Hall and Snooker
it was a nickle after two, yea it was a nickle two
and in the cobalt blue dream smoke, it
was the that groaned out the hit parade
and the chalk squeaked, the floorboards
and an Olympia sign winked a torn yellow
shade, old Jack Chance leanin' up against
a Wurlitzer and eyeballin' out a 5 ball shot
you say? ...hard to believe?, perhaps
out of the realm of naaaa
he be stretchin' out tawny fingers out across a
cool green felt with a provocative gate
and a table railshot that's no sweat and I leaned
up against my bannister and wandered to the
and I punched A-2 I was lookin' for
something like Wine, Wine, Wine by the Caps
starring Chuck E. Weiss or High Pressure
by George (cryin' in the streets) Perkins - no
"that's life," what all the people say ridin' high
in April, seriously shot down in May, but I I'm
change that tune when I'm standing underneath
a buttery moon that's all melted off to one
It was just about that time the sun
crawlin' yellow out of a manhole
at the of 23rd Street
and a moon in a black disguise
was making its way to its
room at the St. Moritz Hotel (scat)
and the El train tumbling across the trestles and it sounded
like the ghost of Gene
with an cam and glasspacks
and the whispering brushes of wet
on a wet pavement and a
traffic jam on Belmont tonight
and the rhapsody of the
evening, I leaned up
my bannister and been looking
for some of an emotional
with romantic dividends
kind of a physical
is
as I attempt to all my
missed payments, into
payment
through the
with residuals and leg akimbo
but the are more than likely I'll probably
be held over for smashed weekend