Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a in the back of your mouth
and cerebellum, Tara at Sarah's wedding
Sam Sam
pushed upon the finger of Sam's hairiest hand
If sickens you, you a bigot
If it well then you wicked
Such is
Odd as Egg at night
No answers, so let us watch dancers
Structure reformed being born
On the pallet of dark greys, concaves and
into a Eiffel
It then it tidals
then it virals
Babylons then it Bibles and
And me of the spinning mothers
And mathematics for beloved
And beasts' covered like the cummerbunds of butlers

How was your day, can I 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 bottles just to make houses
climb up to the second 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 some inhumane conditions so it didn't go
And attention from its pulled all of the flavor from the fat
And it flat and rather lifeless
Well there's a that has a stunning [?]
And mercifully murdered Pisces
But are still the prices
rather niceless, apricot in dices and fromage slices
My son call risotto rices
If and when he's left to his own devices,
How is your
Is it like a lemon tree
To bear bitter fruit of what you to me
Or was it slippin' like permission am I trippin' like
I I'm grippin' but maybe the transmission
Still left out the life, left out the will, grief
Will cheese never your teeth
Maybe kosher beef
Is it real, is it real, is it
Ha, hah!

How at the date can I you my break
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 back to a 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 junkie's a witness
mascaras from the cunning mask wearers of death
Bygone errors, sittin' two oil derricks
by a sea of cooling num nums
Reminiscing of an every day playing hum
Where recognition unnoticed
And then till it was stoic
We should've poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of pentameter

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