Luyện nghe bài hát Le Suzerain Des âmes En Peine

In a he cherished illusions,
Gloomy premonitions of a storm,
His sticked without respite,
by the suffering, the screams and the shocks
Of lower creatures who sleep without dreaming.
As far and diaphanous star flood the landscape with its misty light,
I see the frightened souls wandering the swamps,
of a funeral lord.
The sharp flicks of the blend with the long screams of agony,
the eternal lamentations of the blind Morpheus,
Captive of an invisible dungeon which he was formally the master.
The measure of this grim hunt,
That no blood soil,
A requiem of a dance.
Any will come to clear the profane wound,
And its essence bear the sign forever,
but primordial at the eyes of the Last,
King of the souls,
THE KING, ON THE THRONE OF