Luyện nghe bài hát Sir Francis Bacon At The Net

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

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

There he a mere mist of a thing
Waiting his turn to the King
He his time in centuries
He lives on the of mercies
He his time in centuries

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