Luyện nghe bài hát ABC Cafe

At Notre the sections are prepared!

At rue de Bac straining at the leash!

Students, workers,
There's a on the run
the flowing of the tide
Paris to our side!

The is near
So it's stirring the blood in their veins!
And yet
let the wine go to your brains!
For the we fight is a dangerous foe
With the men and the arms that we can match
It is easy to sit and swat 'em like flies
But the guard will be harder to catch.
We a sign
To rally the
To call them to
To them in line!

(Marius enters)

Marius, late.

And what's today?
You as if you've seen a ghost.

Some wine and say what's on!

A ghost you say... a maybe
She was just like a to me
One minute there, she was gone!

I am agog!
I am aghast!
Is Marius in at last?
I've heard him `ooh' and `aah'
You talk of to be won
And he comes like Don Ju-an
better than an o-per-a!

It is for us all
To who we are
Do we fight for the
To a night at the opera
you asked of yourselves
What's the price you might
Is it simply a
For rich young to play?
The color of the
Is day by day...

Red - the blood of men!
- the dark of ages past!
Red - a world to dawn!
- the night that ends at last!

Had you been there
You might how it feels
To be struck to the
In a of breathless delight!
Had you been there
You might have known
How the world may be
In just one of light!
And was right seems wrong
And what was seems right!

Red...

I my soul on fire!

Black...

My if she's not there!

ALL
Red...

The of desire!

ALL
Black...

The of despair!

Marius, no longer a child
I do not doubt you mean it
But now is a higher call.
Who cares your lonely soul?
We strive toward a goal
Our little don't count at all!

ALL
Red - the of angry men!
Black - the dark of past!
Red - a about to dawn!
Black - the night ends at last!

Well, Courfeyrac, do we all the guns?
Feuilly, Combeferre, our time is short.
Grantaire, put the down!
Do we have the we need?

Give me brandy on my
And I'll them all to death!

In St. Antoine with us to a man!

In Notre Dame they're up the stones!

Twenty rifles as new!

(Gavroche in shouting)

Listen!

Twenty rounds for man!

to me!

JEAN
Double in Port St. Cloud!

everybody!

Seven in St. Martin!

General is dead!

is dead.
Lamarque! His is the hour of fate.
The man.
His is the sign we await!

On his funeral day they honor his name.
Light of ablaze in their eyes
In the candles of weak we kindle our flame
To the tune of our march shall our rise.
The is here!
Let us welcome it gladly with and cheer
Let us take to the streets with no in our hearts
With shout
will come one and all
They come when we call!