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

I

crone: here this pillow
made of and willow
you're a fickle twister
are you on your sister?
your won't leave you alone.

and for their pleasure
possesions laid to
she's a salty pisser
with your in her kisser
but now she's a of her own.

II

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

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

captain: in this called heavenly
you were here.
this called heavenly
you were here.
you were here.

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

and damn all the that opress my sight
i will bleed your through a samovar soon.

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

III

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

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

com loose his hounds
to me down.

chorus of waifs: me down.

on this stretch of ground
lay me down.

chorus of lay me down.

to sleep.

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

soldier: com loose his hounds
to me down.

chorus of waifs: me down.

soldier: on this 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 full of lullabies, orchids and wine
your memories wrapped within and twine.

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

when the dawn commes to greet you, you'll rise with on
and advance the others, singing old songs
of cattle and maidens and 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 cry for your mother's milk.

V

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

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

woman: darling dear, what hav 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 darling dear, they him dead
this on the riverbed.

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

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