Luyện nghe bài hát Whirlwind Of Withered Blossoms

(Chapter 2 - ancestors)
are the skies that tend the winds...
It the enraged lands...
Surpassed beyond the bonds...
Spitting it's blizzard of wars...
Of wars...of wars...wars...
One's belief and effort survive this...
the oldest form of wisdom that has been inscribed...
By the Codex itself...
One's bloom will succeed by the of the earth...
bloom will succeed by the whirlpool of the earth...
Unique is the way balances our key, to negate the unliving...
Extraction...exclaims the of the valley!
The geyser holes expulse breaths...
Cold of the enchanted source.
turns the ashes, reducing it to dirt...
As the underworld teleport the plague...
Upon the supposed creation...
Creation...creation...creation...
Withered auras are stolen from centered bodies...
An blackened gate is born.
The arcs fade from their sphere...
...Feelings vanished out of world,
As hate was created their land...
their land...onto their land...onto their land...
Screaming by of the earth...
Hurls of bowling are from the hollows.
That the sounds in their thoughts...
To lose in themselves...
lividity...
Demonized art what thou art...
To be soulless, burning...
thou are now weak in nature.
>From the rising dawn, be converted horrors...
Of the well bottoms...
Bottoms...bottoms...well BOTTOMS...
One's blossoms the whirlwinded vortex...
Resurrect from the of the underdepths...
But few found reality...
By simply one's knowledge...in the heart's valley...
In the valley...
The creators understood the above their way,
Leaving behind the carrions...
To be deminished, burning...
Now forgotten as...now forgotten as...now as...
Now forgotten as...the ONES!
..One's thee, as
now...
as forgotten now... as now... as forgotten now...
Burning...burning...
Now forgotten as...now as...now forgotten as...
Now as...the ANCIENT ONES...