Luyện nghe bài hát Grotesqueries

All the indeed a corpse
And we are merely
on arrival is our only course
And if the toe fits, tag it

Sycophants, writhing blind
Feeding off each regurgitation
Disgorging whatever we find
Breeding our with each exhalation

Lambs to the
Feast of fools the fodder
No trompe l'oreil to
Just a drama to unfold

Gnarled within mortal coil
Within which the feebly toil
of our own disease
We in our own grotesqueries

Dissecting ourselves to find alive
Just a mass of perversely animated
Nothing worthwhile to revive
mired knee-deep in our own fetid feces

Gorging our gnawing with our own pathological waste
grubs wriggling in the rank feast of decay
We grind our own bones into dust each step we take
As we unseeing through day after day

or consumed
We all end up as chyme and
Upon the fetid we choke
us in no position to appreciate the sick joke

Twisted this mortal coil
Now our unctuous are brought to a boil
between the living and the deceased
We gag on the feast of our

Too by consumption to see our own ends
We're all dead and getting deader
Digging our own graves into which we gladly
In cold coil we're shackled and fettered

As we each others' waste, in a frenzied feeding rush
Leaving everything and dead in our wake
each other in ravening, unheeding crush
As we gorge on all the tripe and offal we can intake

menagerie
Eschatological
We create others' atrocities
In this

by this mortal coil
Reaping fruits long since despoiled
Until our lives at last surcease
We'll hunger for more