Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a finger in the back of mouth
Cherubs and cerebellum, at Sarah's wedding
Sam Sam
Band pushed the finger of Sam's hairiest hand
If sickens you, you a bigot
If it doesn't well you wicked
Such is
Odd as Egg at night
No answers, so let us these dancers
Structure gracefully being born
On the pallet of dark greys, concaves and
Kaleidoscope into a
It ripples then it
Vacillates then it
then it Bibles and others
And me of the spinning mothers
And today's mathematics for
And beasts' bellies covered the cummerbunds of butlers

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

They keep the bottles just to make glass
Then climb up to the second floors and rocks out it
Then expect not a in reply
Some place like prolly in the eye
What of the chicken? is it missin', is it dry?
Did it die in some inhumane conditions so it go relaxed
And attention from its pulled all of the flavor from the fat
And made it flat and lifeless
Well there's a that has a stunning [?]
And more mercifully murdered
But are still the prices
It's rather niceless, apricot in dices and slices
My son will risotto rices
If and when left to his own devices, well
How is your
Is it returning like a tree
To bear bitter fruit of you meant to me
Or was it slippin' like am I trippin' like Phil
I feel I'm grippin' but the transmission
left out the life, also left out the will, grief
Will cheese never touch your
Maybe like beef
Is it real, is it real, is it
Ha, hah!

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

So glad you're back, but not glad at that you're
Where is the in collapse?
Where in the of the facts shoves one back to a pattern of stab wounds
ridden goons consumed and driven mad soon
The years slowly fills with baboons
That other business
Where killers go cause a junkie's a funky witness
Runny mascaras from the cunning wearers of death
Bygone errors, sittin' two oil derricks
Separated by a sea of cooling num
of an every day playing hum drum
Where recognition went
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 from grace from heaven to memories [?]
La petite mort, la mort