Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a finger in the back of your
and cerebellum, Tara at Sarah's wedding
Sam Sam
Band pushed upon the of Sam's hairiest hand
If that sickens you, you a
If it well then you wicked
Such is
Odd as Egg at night
No answers, so let us watch these
Structure gracefully being born
On the pallet of dark greys, concaves and
Kaleidoscope a Eiffel
It ripples then it
then it virals
Babylons then it Bibles and
And me of the spinning mothers
And today's for beloved
And beasts' bellies covered the cummerbunds of butlers

How was your day, can I make you say
What I wanna hear, cause I want you
The hell that we raised to the heavens do for
La mort, la petite mort

keep the bottles just to make glass houses
Then climb up to the floors and throw rocks out it
Then expect not a volley in
place vulnerable like prolly in the eye
What of the chicken? what is it missin', is it
Did it die in some inhumane conditions so it didn't go
And attention its demise pulled all of the flavor from the fat
And it flat and rather lifeless
there's a place that has a stunning [?]
And more mercifully Pisces
But are still the prices
It's rather niceless, apricot in dices and fromage
My son call risotto rices
If and when he's left to his own devices,
How is your
Is it returning like a lemon
To bear bitter fruit of what you to me
Or was it slippin' like permission am I like Phil
I feel I'm grippin' but the transmission
Still out the life, also left out the will, grief
Will cheese never touch teeth
Maybe like beef
Is it real, is it real, is it
Ha, hah!

How at the date can I you my break
Cause I you dear, ooh, I want you dear
The hell we raised to the heavens make [?] for
Our petite mort, our petite

So glad back, but not glad at that you're glad
Where is the glamor in
Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a of stab wounds
Swoon goons consumed and driven mad soon
The attended years fills with baboons
other monkey business
Where go free cause a junkie's a funky witness
Runny mascaras from the cunning wearers of death
errors, sittin' like two oil derricks
Separated by a sea of cooling num
of an every day playing hum drum
Where recognition went
And then solidified it was stoic
We should've poets
between amateurs and grandmasters of iambic pentameter

How are chains, do they make you behave
Keep you here, by your overseer
Fallen from grace down from heaven to [?]
La mort, la petite mort