Name: ムーンライト・ソナタのモダン・マッシュアップ｜ルイス・ウォーレン・ジュニア＆ロンアンバー・デロニー｜TEDxSMU (A Modern Mash-Up of Moonlight Sonata | Lewis Warren, Jr. & RonAmber Deloney | TEDxSMU)
Uploaded: 2021-01-14T10:50:16.000Z
Duration: 5 min 47 s
Description: VoiceTubeの動画で発音を聞きながら英語表現を覚えよう！学べる英語：

関係詞節（制限と非制限）

I hear he's a wild man, a proletarian who forgets to shave and rejects tutelage, who dare nobility to trespass wherever he decides to take his constitutional sze.

So I am exactly where I need to be tuning my instrument with Vienna's finest on a sun blown April afternoon, I've made the Browns baron to count to Prince had my letter of introduction passed on tray after tray like an after dinner drink.

It's all a bit dizzying, lilting queries Croft heads bobbing and murmured goodwill.

I watched late lights often stucco into creamy arabesques as polite chatter swirls around me worlds and dips until I feel I'm being slowly stirred by a celestial coffee.

All you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn or misanthropic.

Holmes called Ludwig von Beethoven's return to Vienna.

Three miles from my adopted city lies a village where I came to the world.

There was a calm place, even the great Dan.

We've been tossed onto the landscape by a girl's careless hand into the stillness.

I had been ordered to recover the hills were gold with late summer.

My rooms were too less a small kitchen, situated upstairs in the back of a cottage at the end of the island.

From my window, I could see onto the courtyard were linden trees, wind skyward, leafy, umbilicus kid toward life worked in the very act of yearning, and I would feed on the sun as if that alone would dismantle the silence around me.

There's a back alley in my front room where lifestyles get fine tuned against ghetto piano strings outside their melodies, bumping the blues out of it awaits.

And if you pressure it towards the front yard, you might catch Frankie Beverly jam you into the fate of three second gap between the groove stuck in your shoulder and the boogie wanting its way out of your hips in the distance, struts the lady who hitchhikes away from Oak Cliff to South Dallas every Friday.

Her thumb has 1800 miles on it, and she never been east of the Mississippi.

Slowed to a crawl, her fetal, the concrete be bumping steps high to the knee.

You've seen her moving sweat down the back skin repelling the burn of some of the kind of black that be so one with the nappy big M Boastful with a call big and bushy curl patterns that got no business being so bound to the block yet alas, she is found profound.

You drown in a brown on the way across town.