Luyện nghe bài hát Sir Francis Bacon At The Net

Merciless nature, and mother walk this land
through the arm of the other
Their tithe they in millions
In a that loves its villains

So it parses a man
the hand that held the dream
And the sword held by the hand
Their golden frames hang
Tangled of their crimes bleaching
golden frames hang gleaming
Bleaching bones of their tangling

There he stands a mere of a thing
his turn to challenge the King
He counts his time in
He on the smallest of mercies
He counts his in centuries

As the map is the dagger comes out
And that which was will now end in doubt
Thank you Sir Francis
Another piece of not taken
Thank you Sir Bacon
Another of advice not taken