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 moonlight to the of the forest,
in the light, we are bound for the portal of the pines.
Grey as famine, on this path against our will by our main sails bound to the tempest until the sea is still.
Which compulsion with this miniature death
From behind the walls of my broken tent, a formal vision,
but I allude to my passion for the obtuse
When will this night
When the lightening finally tears 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 this vision, a formal visitation, on the night with the light above.
Famished follow slowly as my own paws drag me to a dock,
to the last plank where I struggle to deny myself the path that every craves,
just above the in the middle of that man-made lake.
On that pier I turn my eyes from the water a mirror of myself in the moonlight,
and I cough for every 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 is thrown wide, wide open.
Let all sink, let them all sink through.
The talking, the spinning of a web- its all just ritual.
The burning.
The question "what do you deserve?"
The gazing at a candle to find calm, but we all 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 the lowest of the dead
(to Carthage I came).
Only the most sacred crater suit my burial,
only the most sacred choir performs this dirge.
imperfect, like a storm.
By our mane and bound to our grave by our mane,
to the dragged and bound to the tomb by the scavenger's tooth.