Luyện nghe bài hát Nighthawk Postcards

there's a blur drizzle the plateglass
as a swizzle stick stirrin up the sultry night air
and a yellow biscuit of a buttery cue moon
rollin' across an obsidian sky
as the busses go and wheezin',
down on the I'm freezin';
on a restless boulevard at a midnight
I'm town from EASY STREET
with the tight of moviegoers and out of towners
on the
and the buildings high above
lit like dominoes or black
all the car salesmen dressed up in
Checkerboard slacks
and Foster wrap-around,
pacing in front of SCHLEIB
$39.95
barkers at a shootin' gallery
they throw out kind of a Texas routine
"Hello sucker, we like your
as well as anybody else's here"
or give you the P.T. Barnum bit
"There's a born every minute
you just happened to be along at the right time"
come here now
you know... all the harlequin sailors are on the
in a of "LIKE NEW," "NEW PAINT,"
decent factory air and AM-FM
and the piss gypsy cabs
stacked up in the taxi zones waitin'
machines
to be ticking off a joy ride to a place
waitin' in like "truckers welcome" diners
with dirt full of
Peterbilts, Kenworths, and the like, and
they're hiballin' bankrupt brakes, over driven
under paid, over fed, a day and a dollar short
but Christ I got my around a bottle and
my foot on the throttle and I'm on the corner
on the corner like a "just in town"
jasper, on a street with a gasper lookin
' for kind of Cheshire billboard grin
stroking a chin, and using parking meters
as walking sticks on the stroll
with my propped open at half mast
but you know... over at Chubb's Hall and Snooker
it was a after two, yea it was a nickle after two
and in the steel blue dream smoke, it
was the that groaned out the hit parade
and the chalk squeaked, the floorboards
and an Olympia sign winked through a torn
shade, old Jack Chance himself up against
a Wurlitzer and eyeballin' out a 5 combination shot
you say? ...hard to believe?, perhaps
out of the realm of naaaa
he be out long tawny fingers out across a
cool green felt with a provocative golden
and a full railshot that's no sweat and I leaned
up against my bannister and over to the
Wurlitzer and I A-2 I was lookin' for
like Wine, Wine, Wine by the Night Caps
starring Chuck E. Weiss or High Pressure
by George (cryin' in the streets) - no dice
"that's life," that's all the people say ridin' high
in April, seriously shot in May, but I know I'm
gonna that tune when I'm standing underneath
a buttery that's all melted off to one side
It was about that time that the sun
crawlin' yellow out of a manhole
at the foot of 23rd
and a moon in a black disguise
was making its way to its
pre-paid room at the St. Hotel (scat)
and the El came tumbling across the trestles and it sounded
like the ghost of Gene
an overhead cam and glasspacks
and the brushes of wet radials
on a wet pavement and a
traffic jam on Belmont tonight
and the rhapsody of the
evening, I up against
my bannister and I've looking
for kind of an emotional
investment with romantic
of a physical negociation
is
as I attempt to all my
weekly payments, into
one-low-monthly
the nose
with residuals and leg akimbo
but the chances are more than likely I'll
be held for another smashed weekend