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 finger of Sam's hairiest
If that sickens you, you a
If it doesn't then you wicked
Such is
Odd as Egg McMuffins at
No answers, so let us these dancers
Structure reformed gracefully born
On the pallet of greys, concaves and spirals
into a Eiffel
It ripples it tidals
Vacillates it virals
then it Bibles and others
And tell me of the spinning
And mathematics for beloved
And beasts' bellies covered like the cummerbunds of

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

They the bottles 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 like in the eye
What of the what 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 and rather lifeless
Well there's a place that has a [?]
And more mercifully murdered
But barbaric are still the
It's niceless, apricot in dices and fromage slices
My son will risotto 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 permission am I like Phil
I I'm grippin' but maybe the transmission
Still left out the life, also left out the will,
Will never touch your teeth
Maybe like kosher
Is it real, is it real, is it
Ha, hah!

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

So glad back, but not glad at that you're glad
Where is the in collapse?
Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a of stab wounds
Swoon ridden goons consumed and driven mad
The attended years fills with baboons
That monkey business
Where killers go free cause a junkie's a witness
mascaras from the cunning mask wearers of death
Bygone errors, sittin' like two oil
by a sea of cooling num nums
Reminiscing of an day playing hum drum
Where recognition went
And then solidified till it was
We should've poets
Somewhere between and grandmasters of iambic pentameter

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