Luyện nghe bài hát Grotesqueries

All the world's indeed a
And we are merely
Dead on arrival is our only
And if the toe fits, tag it

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

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

Gnarled within this mortal
Within which the feebly toil
Enamored of our own
We in our own grotesqueries

Dissecting ourselves to find alive
a mass of perversely animated pieces
Nothing within to revive
We're knee-deep in our own fetid feces

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

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

Twisted this mortal coil
Now our unctuous desserts are 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 only getting
Digging our own graves which we gladly descend
In this cold coil we're shackled and

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

menagerie
Eschatological
We create others' atrocities
In this

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