Luyện nghe bài hát Exercises In Futility VI

The truth is there isn't one
And it only gets since that conclusion
The irony of being an to nothing
And the of inertia is now a vital factor

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

I the maggots
Their stuff at sticks together
Better than laudations of seers
And those are annals of shame that we work with

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

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

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

The grotesque of misfortune, well fed on thanatos, sit still
the dignity of scavengers at the ever growing garbage dump of life

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