Luyện nghe bài hát Exercises In Futility III

The truth is there isn't one
And it only gets since that conclusion
The irony of being an extension to
And the force of is now a vital factor

And is despair underneath each and every action
Each and every attempt to pierce the armour of
bridges becomes a habit to support
And the front line like there's no tomorrow

I the maggots
stuff at least sticks together
Better than laudations of misinformed
And those are lengthy annals of shame that we work

It's like dumping dead meat at the brink of
With a barge that we made of was left of Yggdrasil
After veterans of spiritual revolts were done with their
And I don't even remember which brink is

The of sanctity is just refined stench of existence
Shining of Augeas' crown pales in comparison

And there is despair underneath and every action
Each and every attempt to pierce the of numbness
Burning bridges becomes a to support
And the front expands like there's no tomorrow

The grotesque eagles of misfortune, fed on thanatos, sit still
It's the dignity of scavengers at the ever growing garbage of life

There is something about the rigid posture of a proper, authentic
As if extended arms reached to his blindness onto others