🎵 Luyện Nghe Bài Hát: Theatre of Tragedy - Cassandra

 Cassandra
 
 He  to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return -
 She hath no life but the  he for her wrought;
 Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd  down,
 Riposted with a tell-tale lore  lies and scorn.
 
 Prophetess  fond?,
  her parle of truth:
 "I ken to-morrow  refell me if ye can!",
 Yet the kiss and breath -  bane -
 Sëer of the future,  of twain,
 "Sicker!",  Cassandra.
 
 Still, is she  and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? -
 A mistress fuell'd  his prest haughtiness -
 If he did grant, wherefore then did he  foresee,
 Belike egal  it to him might be?!
 
 Prophetess or 
 Tho' her parle  truth:
 "I ken to-morrow - refell me  ye can!",
 Yet the kiss and breath -  bane -
 Sëer of the future,  of twain,
  quoth Cassandra.
 
 'Or was he an eried 
 'Or was  weening - alack nay mo;
  naysay' raught his heart,
 Her daffing was the grave of all hope 
 She belied  own words,
 He thought her life, save moreo'er 
 She held him august,  wee;
 He left  ne'er without his heart.