Luyện nghe bài hát Killing

It was when they finally came, the law of force
and line upon line of machine upon machine, back the greenwood,
closer to the of things we go - beneath the wires stretched against the sky,
spitting out in desperation - stop the . . .
The blows down from St George's Hill through to Stanworth Woods,
and to the East, on this grey and pallid dawn the lights the rigs
blinking out across the poisoned sea, a little group of floating out to meet the coming storm
sailing on in desperation - stop the . . .
Raised and upon the land, and the everlasting whispers in diamond
through the trees, in the breath of . . .
still the faith we hold - our time will come . . .
That which the corridors of power is a virus that mutates;
immune to all resistance, and turn of history . . .
And all left for us is marking crosses upon doors,
and scrawling in the golden sand each tide comes rolling in;
screaming out in - stop the killing . . .
Holding on, and out, . . .