Luyện nghe bài hát The Puritan's Hand

There is at the door
It to be among us
In the dreams of crippled children

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

There is upon the air
It grasps at the throat of
Rosary in leather hands
And prayer for me

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

We spent the hours
into the void
Between sleep and
stretch from the womb to the grave
So feel the dead hand as it throttles all life

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