Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a finger in the back of your
Cherubs and cerebellum, Tara at Sarah's
Sam Sam
pushed upon the finger of Sam's hairiest hand
If that sickens you, you a
If it doesn't well you wicked
is life
Odd as Egg McMuffins at
No answers, so let us watch these
Structure gracefully being born
On the pallet of dark greys, and spirals
Kaleidoscope a Eiffel
It then it tidals
Vacillates it virals
then it Bibles and others
And tell me of the spinning
And mathematics for beloved
And beasts' covered like 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 do anything for
La mort, la petite mort

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

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

So glad you're back, but not glad at that you're
Where is the glamor in
Where in the shatter of the shoves one back to a pattern of stab wounds
ridden goons consumed and driven mad soon
The attended years slowly fills with
That other business
Where killers go free cause a a funky witness
Runny mascaras from the cunning wearers of death
Bygone errors, like two oil derricks
Separated by a sea of cooling num
Reminiscing of an every day playing hum
recognition went unnoticed
And then solidified till it was
We should've poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of pentameter

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