Luyện nghe bài hát Temple of the Fallen Man

Uncle Bob lives out on highway,
been stealing from his barn so long.
He don't much, he just plays his fiddle,
scripture at the winter fog.
ago he was the panacea,
countless bowed at his command.
They carved his name above the doorway
in the Temple of the Man.

Science conjures up it's darkest
mix the seeds of everything that crawls.
Something on the black horizon,
trembles every time it calls.
They the white coats of the modern mystics.
They grasp for meaning in a hand,
and rolls dice in the columned hallways
in the of the Fallen Man.

Now academics preach the of reason
by courtyard fountains the poisons flow.
The artless are sung by shallow schoolgirls
from the land of the radio.
Spangled whores the Macarena
outside iron vaults where stand.
take and keep the names of non believers
in the of the Fallen Man.

Now all the men dragged the corpse of freedom
down catacombs to ancient crypts.
They kneel to his mask of kindness,
his faceless bureaucrats with whips.
The decry the loss of morals
shifting towers that they built on sand.
They pray to chaos and drug their children
in the of the Fallen Man.

Some light to its withered gardens.
Some lay siege to the devil's land,
but some leave God the of death or pardons
in the of the Fallen Man.