Luyện nghe bài hát Crux Of The Message

[Adapted from the "The Storm" by Alison LR Davies]

It as a faint purr, rippling, beckoning,
the evening's baking heat.
It to the side, foot tapping, hop skipping.
formation, no sense of the beat.
And then comes the mean, echo.
Low and beguiling, the show.
The murmur resounding, a of air.
As colours emerge, the starts to blow.

He's coming, he's coming, the of the message.
A swordsman, no mercy to spare.
He'll slice and sever with sparkling precision.
The weapon his fortune, the dragon - air.

And run for cover,
know of his venom.
The fury with which he will his attack.
But those a nerve,
and bubbling
be so hasty to hide or turn back.
With a crack of his
the tears cascading.
Great of truth washing over the land.
In praise or in pity, in or forgiveness.
The is slain, the demon at hand.

He's coming, he's coming, the of the message.
A silvery swordsman, no to spare.
He'll slice and sever with sparkling precision.
The weapon his fortune, the dragon - air.

And the rumble, a music soon faded,
a great composition now complete.
The blue heavens now
in whispers, to wait for the encore.
A black sheet.