Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & - Matt Harvey]

Calcified is a breach birth debacle
Natal necrolysis, destined for a formaldehyde-filled
Caesarean reveals the ghastly tot
An infant, in its womb borne to rot

and stiff ere its first breath is claimed
The rigid bundle of joy, maimed
Cold, dead and hard as it's exhumed from the
The its cradle, and its moist fetid tomb...

Only scalpels left for
Swaddling bloody but not from chafing
by embalming solution
As the facilities the cold blood's dilution...

Festered drawn from the cavity in which it was conceived
Birth and now unified, as the grotesque infant is retrieved
Livid osteopedion, breathless still, cold and dry
Birth is just a forensic folly when in born one dies

Birth and death in one fell breath, the corpse from her guts
The morbid birthing cavity is lavaged, and cut
Another tiny life ended before it could begin
Another of human offal, to end up in the rubbish bin...

Neither nor cries escape its lifeless blue lips
Placenta disgorges amniotic fluid as the cord rips
nursery chymes fall on deaf little ears
As the dry-eyed infant incites parents to tears...

atrocity
With a for a crib
for an autopsy
bag for a bib...

Hush little baby, don't say a
Mama's to have to get a casket reserved
But if your body is too
The coffin door will have to stay

A babe in her
Not from harm
the water breaks, the cradle will rot
A nursery with no happy ending, left in the wastebasket, dead and
forgot...

[Lead -

corpse to carve for pathologists and their ilk
Nursed on embalming fluid, no use crying silt mother's milk
Silent rattles stilled
The doctor's gloved hands deliver the babe into a grave that now is

anatomy technicians are the child's only playmates
Callously dissecting, the inanimate
A bloodied dissecting table serves as the one's tomb and trundle
As inquisitive butchery, splays joyless rotten bundle...

Dead before being alive to die
closed forever ere the first tear could dry
Mouth sealed by rigor mortis before the newborn cry
Dissected infant on the table, and dry...

fatality
Whose playpen is a
Lifeless
toes to be tagged...

Now I lay you down to
Your flesh not long to keep
If you rot before you wake
Then leave your corpse for the to take

In the cold in the sterile, dead morgue
Sobs are heard from the maternity
But from the of babes, no sound escapes
In this nativity behind mortuary drapes...