Luyện nghe bài hát My Youngest Son

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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

[Originally by Bogle]

It's an 800 years ending war
That causes grief, sorrow, suffering and - and glory.
But glory for
My youngest son came today
His friends marched him all the way
The and drums beat out the time
As in his box of pine
Like dead on a butcher's tray
My youngest son came today.
My son was a fine young man
With a wife and a and a son
As a man he would have and died
by that bullet sanctified
Now a saint or so they say
They brought saint home today.
Above the narrow streets
An Irish sky down and weeps
On childrens' in gutters spilled
For dreams of freedom
As part of price to pay
My youngest son came today.
My youngest son came today
His friends with him all the way
The flutes and drums beat out the
As in his box of polished
Like dead on a butcher's tray
My youngest son came home
But this he's home to stay.