Luyện nghe bài hát A Crater To Cough In

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