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 upon the of Sam's hairiest hand
If sickens you, you a bigot
If it well then you wicked
Such is
Odd as Egg McMuffins at
No answers, so let us watch dancers
Structure gracefully being born
On the of dark greys, concaves and spirals
Kaleidoscope into a
It ripples then it
Vacillates then it
Babylons then it Bibles and
And me of the spinning mothers
And today's for beloved
And beasts' bellies covered like the of butlers

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

They keep the bottles to make glass houses
Then up to the second floors and throw rocks out it
expect not a volley in reply
Some place vulnerable like in the eye
What of the what is it missin', is it dry?
Did it die in inhumane conditions so it didn't go relaxed
And from its demise pulled all of the flavor from the fat
And it flat and rather lifeless
Well there's a place that has a [?]
And mercifully murdered Pisces
But barbaric are still the
It's rather niceless, apricot in dices and slices
My son will risotto rices
If and he's left to his own devices, well
How is memory?
Is it returning a lemon tree
To bitter fruit of what you meant to me
Or was it slippin' like permission am I trippin' like
I feel I'm but maybe the transmission
Still out the life, also left out the will, grief
Will cheese never your teeth
Maybe like kosher
Is it real, is it real, is it
Ha, hah!

How at the date can I make you my
Cause I 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 that you're
Where is the in collapse?
Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a of stab wounds
Swoon ridden consumed and driven mad soon
The attended years slowly fills baboons
That monkey business
Where killers go cause a junkie's a funky witness
Runny mascaras from the cunning mask wearers of
errors, sittin' like two oil derricks
Separated by a sea of cooling num
Reminiscing of an every day hum drum
Where recognition unnoticed
And then solidified it was stoic
We been poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of pentameter

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