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

There your mother and her plague
What a terrible
Of a tongue
That lend a hand
Though this dead was a act
alcohol intact
Quietly she seeks the day to
With those stitches you clean
You hold your flag of your doleful
Now nothing left to recall
A fruitless bestowed
someone you could never know
In plight of this dismay
This of your plague
a realm that's lost her way