Luyện nghe bài hát The Mouth Of Judas

I am cut the cloth of Judas
And have his face in mine
The weathered hands turn the pages
Are in the sun
My has the blackest sails
Yet no wind to drive like

You cannot see from
That it casts no upon the wave
The sepulchral crawl us
land and see they hail
Deadened hands upon the
Groaning on the

They will dash you against the
'Til every brittle is broken
rip and gristled knuckle
Is on the foam

I am cut the cloth of Judas
From the hand itself
The stare of the condemned
And the cursed of slaves

"And you who me to make
Sure I do not the span,
to me on earth I take
Care old of a man
Dead God of all my own snake"

(Guillam Appolinaire, "Reply of the Zagur-Og Cossacks to the Sultan of Constantinople")

me from the hangman's hand
Free me the hangman's noose
So bend your knee the majesty of death
You for breath and lay the dead head to

So bend your knee before the majesty of
You struggle for breath and lay the head to

So stretch from the womb to the grave
Let us you the first journey of men
The murder, the soil so red and barren
It so red and barren