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. . .
Amber nectar, ichor
. . .cascading in streams of hallowed
For each stain, a forsaken

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

Each I lay
Awakened by her shivering silent
From the shapes in the walls.
It pierces the solitude like that of a distant
In the pitch-black of my delusion. . .

each passing day, a deeper grave. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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