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 you, you a bigot
If it doesn't well then you
Such is
Odd as Egg McMuffins at
No answers, so let us watch dancers
Structure gracefully being born
On the of dark greys, concaves and spirals
into a Eiffel
It ripples it tidals
then it virals
Babylons it Bibles and others
And tell me of the spinning
And today's mathematics for
And bellies covered like the cummerbunds of butlers

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

They keep the just to make glass houses
Then up to the second floors and throw rocks out it
expect not a volley in reply
Some 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 go relaxed
And attention from its demise pulled all of the from the fat
And it flat and rather lifeless
there's a place that has a stunning [?]
And more mercifully murdered
But barbaric are the prices
It's rather niceless, apricot in dices and fromage
My son will call risotto
If and when left to his own devices, well
How is memory?
Is it like a lemon tree
To bitter 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, also out the will, grief
Will never touch your 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 want you dear, ooh, I want you
The hell we raised to the heavens make [?] for
Our petite mort, our mort

So glad you're back, but not at that you're glad
Where is the in collapse?
Where in the shatter of the facts one back to a pattern of stab wounds
ridden goons consumed and driven mad soon
The attended years slowly fills with
other monkey business
Where go free cause a junkie's a funky witness
Runny mascaras the cunning mask wearers of death
Bygone errors, sittin' two oil derricks
by a sea of cooling num nums
Reminiscing of an day playing hum drum
Where recognition unnoticed
And then solidified it was stoic
We should've poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of pentameter

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