Luyện nghe bài hát My Youngest Son

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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

[Originally by Eric

It's an 800 years never war
causes grief, sorrow, suffering and pain - and glory.
But for who?
My youngest son home today
His friends marched him all the way
The flutes and drums out the time
As in his box of polished
Like dead on a butcher's tray
My son came home today.
My youngest son was a fine man
With a wife and a and a son
As a man he would have lived and
Till by that bullet
Now he's a saint or so say
They brought their saint today.
Above the Belfast streets
An Irish sky looks and weeps
On blood in gutters spilled
For of freedom unfilled
As part of price to pay
My youngest son came today.
My youngest son came today
His marched with him all the way
The flutes and drums beat out the
As in his box of polished
dead meat on a butcher's tray
My youngest son came today
But this time he's to stay.