Luyện nghe bài hát Le Suzerain Des âmes En Peine

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