Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a finger in the of your mouth
and cerebellum, Tara at Sarah's wedding
Sam Sam
Band pushed upon the finger of Sam's hand
If sickens you, you a bigot
If it doesn't well you wicked
Such is
Odd as Egg at night
No answers, so let us these dancers
Structure reformed gracefully being
On the pallet of dark greys, and spirals
into a Eiffel
It ripples then it
then it virals
Babylons then it Bibles and
And tell me of the spinning
And today's mathematics for
And beasts' covered like the cummerbunds of butlers

How was your day, can I what 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

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

How at the date can I make you my
I want you dear, ooh, I want you dear
The hell that we raised to the 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 to a pattern of stab wounds
ridden goons consumed and driven mad soon
The years slowly fills with baboons
That monkey business
Where killers go free a junkie's a funky witness
Runny from the cunning mask wearers of death
Bygone errors, like two oil derricks
by a sea of cooling num nums
Reminiscing of an every day hum drum
Where recognition unnoticed
And solidified till it was stoic
We should've poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of iambic

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