Luyện nghe bài hát Veshengro

Moon of the is waning to clay
Bavol the wind on the whale's way
for Veshengro, oak ash and may
I will not flash the day glance on the
king's
Nor yet the glance on the frightened man
Bring her sweet ere she rests on the
of God
With the nutrnegs and of her rosary
That counts the sand
Who cradles and water in the hollow of her hand

I was a wasp on a hill
Ten thousand brothers in a nest of paper
And every sopping apple its cider sweet for my thin tongue

I was a at the court of Fionn
I wore the coat of patches with Jalal the stars
Sang at the black of Ain
I sweet pastries for the Quenn of Spain
I hid my beneath the stone of lies
at the post my boiling brain
Made of my eyes

The of history it is not revealed
We hear not clear but only with hope and
And the pomp of crime, and the of the time

I was a monk repelled by a smell
I sailed in Darwin's ship, a mouse that the grain
Trapped by the on one dark day
I have spoken with the in much sweeter times
And with the where she rolls her waves

The snake-weed is hissing the wind of the
The mountains are mouthing where is born
The light rays are gathering where is shown
for Veshengro. oak ash and thorn.