Luyện nghe bài hát A Crater To Cough In

This path that we walk upon is the collection of points the rain has drawn.
The rhythm of the storm.
By the to the gateposts of the forest,
in the snow light, we are for the portal of the pines.
Grey as famine, on this path against our will by our main sails we're bound to the until the sea is still.
Which compulsion with this death tributize?
From behind the of my broken coughing tent, a formal vision,
but I allude to my passion for the obtuse
When will night end?
When the lightening tears through the mast of our sinking ship.
All the hopes of the slaves are by the grates.
On coffin of a vessel every note's another breaking wave.
Revel in vision, a formal visitation, on the night with the light from above.
Famished dogs slowly as my own paws drag me to a dock,
to the last plank I struggle to deny myself the path that every Pisces craves,
just above the water in the middle of man-made lake.
On that pier I turn my eyes from the water like a of myself in the moonlight,
and I cough for crater that I could see,
on the of that coffin we've come to call the moon.
Now I wonder if all those judgments that you made true.
And the trapdoor of the solstice is thrown wide, open.
Let all sink, let them all sink through.
The talking, the spinning of a web- its all formal ritual.
The burning.
The question "what do you deserve?"
The gazing at a candle to find calm, but we all know its at the of the storm.
Oh moon, though me out, oh moon-
I who have sat by Thebes below the and walked among the lowest of the dead
(to then I came).
Only the sacred crater will suit my burial,
only the most choir performs this ritual dirge.
Perfectly imperfect, a storm.
By our mane dragged and bound to our by our mane,
to the grave dragged and bound to the by the scavenger's tooth.