Luyện nghe bài hát Fairwell to Pripchat

It was a friday in 1986,
The day that begun,
When the dust it fell down on our and streets,
And our buildings at noon,
Touched the and trees, bicycyles, cars
Beds, and picture frames too,
We stood helpless, confused,
Nobody knew to do.

At two on sunday the buses arrived,
A of a thousand or more,
We ordered to be on our way,
Not knowing what lay in ,
Some of our fled in dismay,
And looked for a place to hide,
When four o'clock came and the bus pulled out,
T'was the day that our town died.

(chorus)
And the shirts, sheets and cracks in the wind,
On the window the withering plants,
And the and volgas are parked by the door,
And the in it's usual stance.
Our evergreen tree lies and drooped,
poisoned our fertile land,
The streets speak a silence,
Nothing but the sand.

A visit back is so eerie today,
A modern in view,
To see all the old shops ond the hotel,
And the promyet too.
The momentos we all left behind,
Our photos and and cards,
The toys of our untouchable now,
Toy soldiers standing on guard.

So thee well pripchat, my home and my soul,
Your sorrow can no relief.
A terrifying glimpse of the you show,
Your children all like geese,
The clothes lines still but the owners long gone.
As the era returns,
The in black and white blurred into grey,
The answer is too to learn.

(chorus)

(chorus)