Luyện nghe bài hát In The Wee Small Hours of Sixpence

(brooker / reid) *

In the wee small hours of
And the lighted
Stands a rusty old
Whose old eyes are filled with
For his master, sir galant,
Who is now off to the
And although his are crying
We grief is not the cause
And if grief is not the
He must be of sterner
And his though old and rusty
be blunt as sharp enough

In the wee hours of sixpence
And the broken window
Stand the remnants of the
Who are waiting all in
For the of the cockerel
Showing morning is not
But the air is filled with
And the daylight is not
But still darkness is no
We are men of stuff
And our swords though old and
are blunt as sharp enough.

In the wee small hours of
And the hat-stand in the
Waiting for the morning
Shadows flitting 'cross the
And perhaps old retainer
Whom now of his all
May have been just as we are
And now has no at all.
But still grief was not the
He was made of sterner
And his sword old and rusty
was blunt as sharp enough.