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

Like snowfall, you cry a storm
Your tears rivers on this oaken wall. . .
Amber nectar, misery
. . .cascading in streams of hallowed
For each stain, a shadow

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

night I lay
Awakened by her shivering silent
From the in the corridor walls.
It pierces the like that of a distant scream
In the pitch-black 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, contorted despair was into the wood's grain
Though fire rages within me, no fire burns than her desire
The shape my name. . .

I this oak!
I her sorrow!
I damn these corridors
That the ghosts of those I've thrown away!

Though I am to caress her texture divine
And taste her pain sweet, sweet like wine;
I must burn these halls, these
And silence her shrill, voice
. . .forever. . .

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

You the lugubrious spirit
Who haunted the oak of
You were the that warned this frozen silent storm
You but a ghost in my arms