Luyện nghe bài hát You Were But A Ghost In My Arms

Like snowfall, you cry a silent
Your tears paint rivers on oaken wall. . .
nectar, misery ichor
. . .cascading in of hallowed form
For each stain, a forsaken

You are the spirit
Etched in the oak of
You are the sullen voice and storm

night I lay
Awakened by her shivering voice
From the in the corridor walls.
It pierces the solitude that of a distant scream
In the forest of my delusion. . .

With passing day, a deeper grave. . .

"Why did you me to die?"
"Why did you me?"
"Why did you walk away and leave me yearning?"

Her haunting, despair was etched into the wood's grain
Though rages within me, no fire burns fiercer than her desire
The shape my name. . .

I this oak!
I her sorrow!
I damn oaken corridors
That bear the ghosts of those thrown away!

Though tempted I am to caress her texture
And taste her pain sweet, like brandy wine;
I must burn halls, these corridors
And her shrill, tormenting voice
. . .forever. . .

Like snowfall, you cried a storm
No tears stain this dust in my
But from this gray, her voice still
my name. . .

You were the lugubrious
Who the oak of wonder
You were the geist that warned this frozen silent
You but a ghost in my arms