Luyện nghe bài hát The Path Of Least Persistence (Figure II)

There goes your and her plague
What a terrible
Of a charcoaled
That wouldn't a hand
Though this dead was a act
alcohol intact
Quietly she the day to pass
those stitches that you clean
You hold your flag of your plea
Now there's nothing left to
A fruitless title
Amongst someone you could never
In plight of this dismay
thickness of your plague
She's a realm lost her way