Luyện nghe bài hát Each Small Candle

Not the torturer scare me
Nor the body's final
Nor the barrels of rifles
Nor the on the wall
Nor the when to the ground
The last dim of pain, is held
But the indifference
Of a unfeeling world

in the burnt out shell
Of Albanian farm
An old
Holds a crying baby in her
A soldier from the other
A man of and pride
Breaks ranks, down his rifle
And kneels by her

He binds her
He her food
And the crying child
She him absolution then
the great divide
He his way back through the broken
China of her
And at the kerb
The Serb turns..
Turns and waves..

And each small
a corner of the dark...