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 for the portal of the pines.
as famine, on this path against 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 coughing tent, a formal vision,
but I allude to my passion for the obtuse
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 another breaking wave.
Revel in this vision, a formal visitation, on the night the light from above.
Famished dogs follow slowly as my own paws me to a dock,
to the plank where I struggle to deny myself the path that every Pisces craves,
just the water in the middle of that man-made lake.
On that pier I my eyes from the water like a mirror of myself in the moonlight,
and I for every crater that I could see,
on the surface of that coffin we've come to the moon.
Now I wonder if all judgments that you made were true.
And the trapdoor of the is thrown wide, wide open.
Let them all sink, let 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 its at the center of the storm.
Oh moon, though me out, oh moon-
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall and walked among the lowest of the
(to then I came).
Only the most sacred crater will my burial,
only the most sacred performs this ritual dirge.
Perfectly imperfect, a storm.
By our mane dragged and to our grave by our mane,
to the dragged and bound to the tomb by the scavenger's tooth.