Luyện nghe bài hát Grotesqueries

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

Sycophants, we're writhing
off each others' regurgitation
Disgorging whatever waste we
Breeding our degradation with each

to the slaughter
Feast of fools upon the
No l'oreil to behold
Just a wretched drama to

Gnarled within this coil
Within which the voracious toil
of our own disease
We in our own grotesqueries

Dissecting to find nothing alive
Just a mass of perversely animated
within worthwhile to revive
We're mired in our own fetid feces

Gorging our gnawing jaws with our own waste
Like grubs wriggling in the rank feast of
We grind our own bones into each futile step we take
As we inch through day after day

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

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

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

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

menagerie
Eschatological
We each others' atrocities
In grotesquery

by this mortal coil
Reaping rancid fruits long despoiled
Until our depraved lives at surcease
We'll hunger for grotesqueries