Luyện nghe bài hát Into the Painted Grey

The lines in these wooden hands
Speak of a silent below the depths
Of an austere tide
For centuries have risen

the ancient hands of a god
Once for the world's birth
A sacrifice to the of life
Now darkness is thine

Temples of magma stream the grey
The arc transcends my iconic pride
For I am not an ageless god, no, I am imprisoned by
These ancient palms shall once again be

Hands... hands that the oceans

To depths
Above the
For I die,
The universe will die me
and all will be lost, gone
am I?

How long shall I suffer
Forlorn in the neolithic embrace
Forsaken in the sullen tide
How long I suffer here?

Perched on the cliffside gazing out the brine
My archaic beard downward and joins the feral sea
I am the heritage; the quintessence of myth and
The archetype of Pagan might and

Hands... hands that lift the
To vertical depths beyond the
I gather a celestial blanket around tired bones
And finally in clouds of ice

are my hands...
...so it is done.