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 entered our at noon,
the grass and trees, bicycyles, cars
Beds, and picture frames too,
We around helpless, confused,
Nobody what to do.

At two on sunday the buses arrived,
A fleet of a or more,
We were to be on our way,
Not what lay in store ,
of our citizens 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 bikes in it's stance.
Our evergreen tree lies and drooped,
They've our fertile land,
The speak a deafening silence,
Nothing but the sand.

A visit back home is so today,
A modern in view,
To see all the old ond the forest hotel,
And the cinema too.
The momentos we gathered all behind,
Our and letters and cards,
The of our children untouchable now,
Toy soldiers standing on guard.

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

(chorus)

(chorus)