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 section of the storm.
By the to the gateposts of the forest,
in the light, we are bound for the portal of the pines.
Grey as famine, on this path our will by our main sails we're bound to the tempest until the sea is still.
Which compulsion with this miniature death
From behind the walls of my broken coughing tent, a vision,
but I allude to my helpless passion for the
will this night end?
When the lightening finally tears through the of our sinking ship.
All the hopes of the slaves are by the grates.
On this coffin of a vessel every note's breaking wave.
Revel in this vision, a visitation, on the night with the light from above.
Famished dogs follow slowly as my own drag me to a dock,
to the last plank where I 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 mirror of in the moonlight,
and I cough for every crater I could see,
on the surface of that 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 its all just formal ritual.
The burning.
The burning "what do you deserve?"
The gazing at a to find calm, but we all know its at the center of the storm.
Oh moon, though me out, oh moon-
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall and among the lowest of the dead
(to then I came).
Only the most sacred will suit my burial,
only the most sacred choir this ritual dirge.
Perfectly imperfect, a storm.
By our mane and bound to our grave by our mane,
to the grave dragged and bound to the by the scavenger's tooth.