Luyện nghe bài hát Republic of Heaven

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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

We in remembrance, drained by our scorn.
The flocks of the throttled, forlorn.
We gasp epiphany, perception unmasked.
Ranks of black litter out path.

empties on our woeful malaise,
Engulfs and our impious parade.
These are the embers, the ideal,
The end of our allow us to feel.
remain tender to touch makes us cry.
We see through these windows now eyes.

Our is heavy as we ascend.
blemished flesh the earth seems to rent.
Pustules of faces, mouths crevasse,
Our weathered coherence to morass.

Empyrian on our woeful malaise,
Engulfs and entwines our parade.
These are the embers, the ideal,
The end of our chastity us to feel.
Nerves remain tender to makes us cry.
We see through these windows now eyes.

Our are paid to this epoch,
Sanctimonious, no remorse.
The is dead!
We his face! Cut off his head!
We spit at thee, we at thee.
The is dead!
Brothers and sisters, the is dead!
Cut him down, flay his skin, the is dead!
Our god is dead!

Courtisans! Compatriots! me your ears,
We slayed this demagogue it to its knees.
We cut all the sycophants their call,
We back the willing to better us all.
We not go quiet, we will not be restrained,
We will not be to an impotent regieme.
Mark in remembrance, the turning of tides.
Our nascent born of [his] demise.

The nativity!
Our elegy!
To reform!

empties on our woeful malaise,
Engulfs and our impious parade.
are the embers, the fetid ideal,
The end of our allow us to feel.
Nerves remain tender to touch us cry.
We see these windows now become eyes.