Luyện nghe bài hát The Jungle Line

Rousseau on trumpet paths
Safaris to the heart of all that
Through I bars and girders, through wires and
The circuits of the modern nights

huts, through Harlem, through jails and gospel pews
Through the on park and the trash on vine
Europe and the deep, deep heart of Dixie blue
Through progress cuts the jungle line

In a low-cut she brings the beer
Rousseau a jungle flower behind her ear
Those cannibals of shuck and
eat a working girl like her alive

With his hard-edged eye and his steady
He paints the full of ferns and orchid vines
And he hangs a moon above a five-piece
He hangs it up the jungle line

The line, the jungle line
in a ritual of sound and time
Floating, on the air-conditioned wind
And drooling for a taste of smuggled in

women funneled through valves and smoke
Coy and bitchy, wild and
And charging elephants and chanting slaving
Charging, chanting down the line

a poppy wreath on a soldier's tomb
There's a poppy snake in a room
Poppy poison, tourniquet
It slithers away on like mouthpiece spit

And metal skin and birds
Go up to Rousseau's vines
go steaming up to Brooklyn Bridge
Steaming, steaming, steaming up the jungle