Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a finger in the back of your
Cherubs and cerebellum, Tara at wedding
Sam Sam
Band pushed upon the finger of Sam's hand
If sickens you, you a bigot
If it doesn't well then you
Such is
Odd as Egg McMuffins at
No answers, so let us watch these
reformed gracefully being born
On the of dark greys, concaves and spirals
Kaleidoscope into a
It then it tidals
Vacillates then it
Babylons then it and others
And tell me of the mothers
And mathematics for beloved
And beasts' covered like the cummerbunds of butlers

How was day, can I make 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 just to make glass houses
Then climb up to the second floors and rocks out it
Then not a volley in reply
Some place vulnerable like in the eye
of the chicken? what is it missin', is it dry?
Did it die in some inhumane conditions so it go relaxed
And from its demise pulled all of the flavor from the fat
And made it flat and rather
there's a place that has a stunning [?]
And more mercifully murdered
But barbaric are the prices
It's rather niceless, in dices and fromage slices
My son will risotto rices
If and when he's left to his own devices,
How is your
Is it returning like a lemon
To bear bitter fruit of you meant to me
Or was it slippin' like permission am I like Phil
I feel I'm but maybe the transmission
Still 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
I want you dear, ooh, I want you dear
The hell we raised to the heavens make [?] for
Our mort, our petite mort

So glad you're back, but not at that you're glad
Where is the in collapse?
Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one to a pattern of stab wounds
ridden goons consumed and driven mad soon
The attended years fills with baboons
other monkey business
Where killers go free cause a a funky witness
Runny mascaras from the mask wearers of death
Bygone errors, sittin' like two oil
Separated by a sea of cooling num
Reminiscing of an every day hum drum
recognition went unnoticed
And then solidified it was stoic
We should've poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of iambic

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