Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a finger in the of your mouth
Cherubs and cerebellum, Tara at Sarah's
Sam Sam
Band pushed upon the finger of hairiest hand
If sickens you, you a bigot
If it doesn't well you wicked
is life
Odd as Egg McMuffins at
No answers, so let us watch these
Structure gracefully being born
On the pallet of dark greys, and spirals
Kaleidoscope a Eiffel
It ripples it tidals
Vacillates then it
then it Bibles and others
And tell me of the spinning
And today's mathematics for
And beasts' bellies covered 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 petite

They keep the bottles just to 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
What of the chicken? is it missin', is it dry?
Did it die in some inhumane conditions so it didn't go
And attention from its demise pulled all of the from the fat
And made it flat and rather
Well there's a place that has a [?]
And more mercifully Pisces
But barbaric are still the
It's rather niceless, in dices and fromage slices
My son call risotto rices
If and when left to his own devices, well
How is your
Is it returning like a tree
To bitter fruit of what you meant to me
Or was it like permission 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 your teeth
like kosher beef
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 that we raised to the heavens [?] for
Our petite mort, our petite

So glad you're back, but not glad at that you're
Where is the glamor in
Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a pattern of wounds
ridden goons consumed and driven mad soon
The attended years fills with baboons
That monkey business
Where killers go free cause a junkie's a funky
Runny mascaras the cunning mask wearers of death
Bygone errors, like two oil derricks
by a sea of cooling num nums
Reminiscing of an every day hum drum
Where recognition unnoticed
And then solidified it was stoic
We been poets
Somewhere amateurs and grandmasters of iambic pentameter

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