🎵 Luyện Nghe Bài Hát: Theatre of Tragedy - Cassandra

 Cassandra
 
 He gave to her,  tenfold claim'd in return -
 She hath no life but  one he for her wrought;
 Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she  it down,
 Riposted with a  lore of lies and scorn.
 
 Prophetess or 
  her parle of truth:
 "I ken to-morrow - refell  if ye can!",
 Yet the  and breath - Apollo's bane -
  of the future, not of twain,
  quoth Cassandra.
 
 Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne,  sight divine? -
 A mistress fuell'd by his  haughtiness -
 If he did grant,  then did he not foresee,
  egal as it to him might be?!
 
 Prophetess or 
 Tho'  parle of truth:
 "I  to-morrow - refell me if ye can!",
 Yet the kiss  breath - Apollo's bane -
 Sëer of the future, not of 
  quoth Cassandra.
 
  was he an eried being,
 'Or was  weening - alack nay mo;
 Her  raught his heart,
 Her daffing was the grave  all hope -
 She  her own words,
 He  her life, save moreo'er scourge,
  held him august, yet wee;
 He  her ne'er without his heart.