Luyện nghe bài hát Crux Of The Message

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

It starts as a purr, rippling, beckoning,
stealing the baking heat.
It steps to the side, tapping, hop skipping.
formation, no sense of the beat.
And comes the mean, heartrending echo.
Low and beguiling, the show.
The resounding, a tightening of air.
As colours emerge, the starts to blow.

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

And run for cover,
know of his venom.
The fury which he will mount his attack.
But with a nerve,
and bubbling
Won't be so hasty to or turn back.
With a crack of his
the tears cascading.
Great of truth washing over the land.
In or in pity, in fear or forgiveness.
The thunder is slain, the at hand.

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

And the threatening rumble, a music faded,
a composition now rendered complete.
The mottle blue now
gather in whispers, to for the encore.
A black sheet.