Luyện nghe bài hát Saint Simon

After all implements and text designed by intellects
So vexed to find evidently just so much that hides
And the saints of us divine in ancient feeding lines
Their sentiment is just as to pluck from the vine

I'm hard not to pretend
myself no mock defense
Step into the

I don't have the time nor mind to figure out
The nursery rhymes that us out and make a sense of our lives
The uneventful state of apathy releases me
I value them but I won't cry every one's wiped out

I'll try hard not to in
down to fair the wind
Rid my of this pretense
Allow myself no defense
into the night...

Mercy's eyes are
When she places in front of you
Nothing holds a roman to
The solemn you feel inside

no measuring of it
As else is love

I'll try hard not to in
Battened to fair the wind
Rid my head of pretense
Allow myself no defense
Step the night...

Mercy's eyes are
When she places them in of you
Nothing really a candle to
The solemn warmth you feel of you