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 rhythm of the storm.
By the moonlight to the of the forest,
in the snow light, we are bound for the of the pines.
Grey as famine, on this path against our by our main sails we're bound to the tempest until the sea is still.
Which compulsion with this miniature tributize?
From behind the of my broken coughing tent, a formal vision,
but I to my helpless passion for the obtuse
When will this end?
When the lightening finally tears the mast of our sinking 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 from above.
Famished dogs slowly as my own paws drag me to a dock,
to the last plank where I struggle to deny myself the that every Pisces craves,
just above the water in the of that man-made lake.
On that pier I my eyes 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 we've come to call the moon.
Now I wonder if all those 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 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 pluckest me out, oh
I who sat by Thebes below the wall and walked among the lowest of the dead
(to Carthage I came).
the most sacred crater will suit my burial,
only the most sacred choir performs ritual dirge.
imperfect, like a storm.
By our dragged and bound to our grave by our mane,
to the grave dragged and bound to the tomb by the tooth.