Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a finger in the of your mouth
Cherubs and cerebellum, Tara at wedding
Sam Sam
Band pushed upon the finger of hairiest hand
If that you, you a bigot
If it doesn't well then you
is life
Odd as Egg McMuffins at
No answers, so let us watch these
Structure gracefully being born
On the pallet of dark greys, concaves and
into a Eiffel
It ripples it tidals
Vacillates then it
Babylons it Bibles and others
And tell me of the mothers
And mathematics for beloved
And beasts' bellies covered the cummerbunds of butlers

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

keep the bottles just to make glass houses
Then climb up to the second floors and throw out it
Then expect not a volley in
Some place vulnerable prolly in the eye
What of the chicken? what is it missin', is it
Did it die in inhumane conditions so it didn't go relaxed
And attention from its pulled all of the flavor from the fat
And it flat and rather lifeless
Well a place that has a stunning [?]
And more mercifully Pisces
But barbaric are still the
It's rather niceless, apricot in dices and fromage
My son will risotto rices
If and when he's left to his own devices,
How is memory?
Is it like 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
Still left out the life, 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
I want you dear, ooh, I want you dear
The hell we raised to the heavens make [?] for
Our petite mort, our mort

So you're back, but not glad at that you're glad
is the glamor in collapse?
Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a pattern of wounds
Swoon ridden goons and driven mad soon
The attended years slowly with baboons
That other business
Where killers go free cause a junkie's a witness
Runny mascaras from the mask wearers of death
errors, sittin' like two oil derricks
Separated by a sea of num nums
of an every day playing hum drum
Where went unnoticed
And then solidified it was stoic
We should've poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of pentameter

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