Luyện nghe bài hát Nietzsche

I travelled through a of men,
A land of men and too,
And heard and saw such dreadful
As cold earth wanderers knew.

For the babe is born in joy
was begotten in dire woe,
Just as we reap in joy the
we in bitter tears did sow;

And if the babe is a boy
given to a woman old,
Who nails him down a rock,
Catches his in cups of gold.

She binds thorns around his head,
And both his hands and feet,
And cuts his heart out of his
To make it feel both & heat.

Her number every nerve
Just as a miser his gold;
She lives his shrieks and cries—
And she young as he grows old,

Till he becomes a youth
And she becomes a virgin
Then he rends up his
And her down for his delight.

He plants in all her nerves
Just as a his mould,
And she his dwelling-place
And garden, seventyfold.

An shadow soon he fades,
round and earthly cot,
Full all with gems and gold
he by industry had got.

And these are the of the human soul:
The rubies and of a lovesick eye,
The countless gold of an heart,
The martyr's groan, and the sigh.

They are his meat, are his drink:
He the beggar and the poor
And the wayfaring
For open is his door.

His grief is eternal joy,
They make the roofs and walls to
from the fire on the hearth
Alittle female babe spring!

And she is all of fire
And and gold, that none his hand
Dares to touch her baby form,
Or her in his swaddling-band.

But she to the man she loves,
If young or old, or rich or
They drive out the aged host,
A beggar at door.

He wanders far away
some other take him in;
Oft blind and age-bent, distressed,
Until he can a win.

And to his freezing age
The poor man her in his arms:
The fades before his sight,
The garden and its lovely

The guests are scattered through the
(For the eye altering, all);
The roll themselves in fear,
And the flat becomes a ball,

The stars, sun, moon, all shrink
A desert vast a bound,
And left to eat or drink
And a dark all around.

The of her infant lips,
The bread and of her sweet smile,
The wild game of her eye
him to infancy beguile.

For as he eats and he grows
and younger every day;
And on the desert they both
Wander in and dismay.

Like the wild stag she away;
Her fear plants many a wild,
While he her night and day,
By various of love beguiled.

By various arts of and hate,
Till the wide desert planted
With of wayward love,
Where roams the lion, and boar,

he becomes a wayward babe
And she a woman old.
many a lover wanders here,
The sun and stars are rolled,

The trees bring forth ecstasy
To all who in the roam,
Till many a city is built,
And many a shepherd's home.

But when they the frowning babe
Terror strikes the region wide;
cry, 'The Babe! the Babe is born!'
And flee away on side.

For who dare touch the form
His arm is to its root,
Lions, boars, wolves, all flee
And every tree does its fruit;

And none can that frowning form,
Except it be a woman
She nails him down the rock,
And all is done as I told