🎵 Luyện Nghe Bài Hát: Theatre of Tragedy - Cassandra

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