Luyện nghe bài hát The Tain (Parts I, II, III, IV, V)

I

crone: upon this pillow
of reed and willow
you're a fickle twister
are you sweet on your
your phallo leave you alone.

and for their pleasure
possesions to measure
she's a salty little
with your cock in her
but now she's a of her own.

II

husband: damn your ankles and wide
you fingernails to your ponytails too.
king of the and the m-5
over charlemagne in a too.

and needs a new prize
baby needs a new and prize.

captain: in this called heavenly
you born here.
this place heavenly
you born here.
you born here.

husband: and now all the marchers descend high
i will dedicate all of my to this.

and damn all the angles that my sight
i will bleed your heart a samovar soon.

in this place called heavenly
you born here.
this place called
you were here.
you were here.

III

soldier: they settled dust in your
to watch you shake and it out.
with our armaments
we shed our and travel alls.

from the lee of the
he in the chang and the chariot
and all his in thrall
can lift his line and lariat.

com loose his hounds
to me down.

of waifs: blow me down.

soldier: on this of ground
lay me down.

chorus of lay me down.

to sleep.

chaplain: and now with pangs
that tear at our backs like thistle
the mirror's silver tain
reflects our and birthing hour

soldier: here com his hounds
to me down.

chorus of blow me down.

on this stretch of ground
lay me down.

chorus of lay me down.

to sleep.

IV

widow: o the wind is blowing, it hurts your
as you up hillside, forest and fen.

your arms of lullabies, orchids and wine
your memories wrapped paper and twine.

the room that you lie in is and hard
sleeping babies on piles of yards
of gingham, taffeta, cotton and
your dry hungry mouths cry for mother's milk.

when the dawn commes to greet you, you'll with clothes on
and advance with the others, singing old
of cattle and and withered old queens.
let the carry you on.

the room you lie in is dusty and hard
sleeping babies on piles of yards
of gingham, taffeta, cotton and
your dry hungry mouths cry for your milk.

V

woman: darling dear what have you
clothes are town, your make-up runs.

daughter: i ran through brambles, thistle
i washed my face in the river when you me on.

woman: dear, what hav eyou done?
hands and face are smeared with blood.

daughter: the chaplain and called me out
to and to butcher his mother's sow

woman: but dear, they found him dead
morning on the riverbed.

but now darling, don't you cry.
your reward's in the sweet -by.
hush now baby, you cry.
reward's in the sweet by-and-by.

crone: and now we've your powers
stretch the hours
you're a fickle twister
are you on your sister?
as now you go home.