Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a finger in the of your mouth
Cherubs and cerebellum, at Sarah's wedding
Sam Sam
Band pushed the finger of Sam's hairiest hand
If that sickens you, you a
If it well then you wicked
Such is
Odd as Egg McMuffins at
No answers, so let us these dancers
reformed 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 mothers
And today's for beloved
And beasts' bellies covered the cummerbunds of butlers

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

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

So glad you're back, but not glad at you're glad
Where is the glamor in
in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a pattern of stab wounds
Swoon ridden goons and driven mad soon
The attended years slowly fills baboons
That monkey business
Where killers go free cause a junkie's a funky
Runny mascaras from the cunning 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 went
And then solidified till it was
We should've poets
Somewhere between amateurs and of iambic pentameter

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