Luyện nghe bài hát Republic of Heaven

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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

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

Empyrian empties on our malaise,
and entwines our impious parade.
These are the embers, the ideal,
The end of our allow us to feel.
Nerves remain tender to makes us cry.
We see through windows now become eyes.

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

Empyrian empties on our malaise,
Engulfs and our impious parade.
are the embers, the fetid ideal,
The end of our chastity us to feel.
remain tender to touch makes us cry.
We see through windows now become eyes.

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

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

The nativity!
Our elegy!
To reform!

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