Luyện nghe bài hát Le Suzerain Des âmes En Peine

In a dream he illusions,
Gloomy premonitions of a storm,
His hatred 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 its misty light,
I see the frightened souls through the swamps,
of a funeral lord.
The sharp flicks of the hoofs with the long screams of agony,
With the eternal of the blind Morpheus,
Captive of an invisible dungeon which he was formally the master.
The flutes of this grim hunt,
That no will soil,
A requiem of a dance.
Any salvation will come to the profane wound,
And its essence will the sign forever,
but primordial at the eyes of the Last,
King of the souls,
THE KING, ON THE THRONE OF