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, writhing blind
Feeding off each others'
whatever waste we find
Breeding our degradation with exhalation

to the slaughter
Feast of upon the fodder
No trompe to behold
Just a wretched to unfold

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

Dissecting ourselves to find nothing
Just a mass of perversely pieces
within worthwhile to revive
We're mired knee-deep in our own fetid

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

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

through this mortal coil
Now our unctuous desserts are brought to a
Somewhere the living and the deceased
We gag on the feast of our

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

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

menagerie
Eschatological
We create each atrocities
In this

Asphyxiated by mortal coil
rancid fruits long since despoiled
Until our depraved at last surcease
hunger for more grotesqueries