Luyện nghe bài hát ABC Cafe

At Notre the sections are prepared!

At rue de Bac straining at the leash!

Students, workers,
There's a on the run
the flowing of the tide
Paris to our side!

The is near
So near it's stirring the in their veins!
And yet
let the wine go to your brains!
For the army we is a dangerous foe
With the men and the arms that we never can
It is to sit here and swat 'em like flies
But the guard will be harder to catch.
We a sign
To rally the
To call them to
To bring in line!

(Marius enters)

Marius, late.

And what's wrong
You look as if seen a ghost.

Some wine and say what's on!

A you say... a ghost maybe
She was just a ghost to me
One minute there, she was gone!

I am agog!
I am aghast!
Is Marius in at last?
I've heard him `ooh' and `aah'
You of battles to be won
And here he like Don Ju-an
It's than an o-per-a!

It is for us all
To who we are
Do we for the right
To a night at the opera
Have you of yourselves
What's the price you might
Is it a game
For rich young boys to
The of the world
Is day by day...

Red - the blood of men!
- the dark of ages past!
Red - a about to dawn!
Black - the that ends at last!

Had you been today
You might know how it
To be struck to the
In a moment of delight!
Had you been today
You might also known
How the may be changed
In just one of light!
And what was seems wrong
And what was seems right!

Red...

I my soul on fire!

Black...

My if she's not there!

ALL
Red...

The of desire!

ALL
Black...

The of despair!

Marius, you're no a child
I do not doubt you it well
But now there is a call.
Who cares about your lonely
We strive toward a goal
Our lives don't count at all!

ALL
Red - the of angry men!
- the dark of ages past!
Red - a world to dawn!
Black - the that ends at last!

Well, Courfeyrac, do we all the guns?
Feuilly, Combeferre, our is running short.
Grantaire, put the down!
Do we have the guns we

Give me brandy on my
And I'll breathe all to death!

In St. Antoine with us to a man!

In Notre they're tearing up the stones!

Twenty rifles as new!

(Gavroche in shouting)

Listen!

Twenty rounds for man!

to me!

JEAN
that in Port St. Cloud!

everybody!

Seven in St. Martin!

General is dead!

is dead.
Lamarque! His is the hour of fate.
The man.
His is the sign we await!

On his funeral day they honor his name.
of rebellion ablaze in their eyes
In the candles of weak we kindle our flame
To the of our march shall our barricade rise.
The is here!
Let us welcome it gladly with and cheer
Let us to the streets with no doubt in our hearts
jubilant shout
They come one and all
will come when we call!