Luyện nghe bài hát Ballad Of The Harp Weaver

Son said my mother when I was knee
You need of clothes to you and not a rag have I
There's nothing in the to make a boy's britches
Nor shears to cut a with nor thread to take stitches
There's nothing in the but a leaf end of rye
And the harp with a the woman's head nobody will by and she began to cry
was in the early fall and when came the late fall
Son she said the of you makes your mother's blood crawl
Little skinny shoulder blades stickin' your clothes
And where you get a jacket from God knows
It's lucky for me lad daddy's in the ground
And can't see the way I let his son go and she made a queer sound
That was in the fall when the winter came
I'd not a of bridges nor a shirt to my name
I couldn't go to school or out of to play
And all the other boys passed our way
Son said my mother come climb my lap
And I'll your little knees while you take a nap
And oh but we were silly for half an or more
Me with my long legs draggin' on the
I rocked rocked rocked to a mother rhyme
Oh but we were for half an hour's time
But there was I a great boy and what would say
To hear my mother me to sleep all day in such a daft way
Men say the winter was bad that year fuel was scarce and food was
A wind with a wolf's head howled about our
And we burned up the and sat upon the floor
All that was us was a chair we couldn't break
And the harp with the woman's head nobody would take for song or pity
The night before Christmas I cried the cold
I cried myself to sleep a two year old
And in the deep night I felt my mother
And stare down me with love in her eyes
I saw my sitting on the one good chair
A light falling on her face from I couldn't tell
Looking nineteen and not a day
And the harp with the woman's head leaned her shoulder
Her thin fingers in the thin tall strings
Were weave weaving wonderful things
Many threads from where I couldn't see
Were running through the strings rapidly
And gold whistlin' through my mother's hands
I saw the web and the pattern expand
She wove a child's jacket and when it was
She laid it on the floor and another one
She a red cloak so regal to see
She's made it for a son I said and not for me but I knew it was for me
She wove a pair of and quicker than that
She a pair of boots a little cocked hat
She wove a pair of she wove a little blouse
She wove all night in the cold house
She sang as she worked and the strings spoke
But her voice never and the thread never broke
But when I awoke sat my mother
With the harp against her shoulder nineteen and not a day older
A smile about her lips and a light about her
And her hands in the harp frozen dead
And piled up her toppling to the skies
Were the clothes of a son just my size