Luyện nghe bài hát The Puritan's Hand

There is at the door
It begs to be us
In the ashen of crippled children

There is sickness in the
Nothing this side of Eden
Nor in the abyss
That is all men's
Nor in the tug
Of motherhood that curses all with

There is disease the air
It grasps at the of virtue
twist in leather hands
And offer for me

And I have the god of men
For my whole
Yet now we sit at the table
Breaking bread and drinking wine

We spent the smallest
Staring into the
Between sleep and
That stretch from the womb to the
So the puritan's dead hand as it throttles all life

So clasp your hands and your broken knees
For no one will, and your confessions
Of guilt, are not your saving grace
And so you seek redemption at the hand
Is the hell you find not enough for you?
To your redemption