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 blind
Feeding off others' regurgitation
Disgorging whatever we find
Breeding our with each exhalation

Lambs to the
Feast of upon the fodder
No trompe to behold
Just a drama to unfold

Gnarled this mortal coil
Within which the voracious feebly
of our own disease
We in our own grotesqueries

ourselves to find nothing alive
Just a mass of perversely animated
Nothing within to revive
We're mired knee-deep in our own fetid

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

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

Twisted through this mortal
Now our unctuous desserts are to a boil
Somewhere between the and the deceased
We gag on the of our grotesqueries

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

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

menagerie
Eschatological
We create others' atrocities
In grotesquery

Asphyxiated by mortal coil
Reaping rancid long since despoiled
Until our depraved at last surcease
We'll hunger for more