Luyện nghe bài hát Crux Of The Message

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

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

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

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

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

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