Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & - Matt Harvey]

Calcified infant is a breach birth
necrolysis, destined for a formaldehyde-filled bottle
Caesarean section reveals the 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 as it's exhumed from the womb
The uterus its cradle, and its fetid tomb...

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

Festered fetus drawn 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 being 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 piece of human offal, to end up in the bin...

Neither gurgles nor cries escape its lifeless lips
Placenta disgorges amniotic fluid as the cord rips
Morbid nursery fall on deaf little ears
As the infant incites parents to bitter tears...

Obstetric
a casket for a crib
Nursery for an
bag for a bib...

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

A babe in her
Not safe harm
When the water breaks, the cradle rot
A chyme 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 over silt mother's milk
baby rattles stilled
The doctor's gloved hands deliver the babe into a grave now is filled

Morbid anatomy 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 this rotten bundle...

before ever being alive to die
Eyes forever ere the first tear could dry
Mouth sealed by rigor mortis before the first cry
Dissected on the table, dead-cut and dry...

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

Now I lay you to sleep
Your putrid flesh not to keep
If you should rot you wake
Then leave your corpse for the to take

In the cold in the sterile, dead morgue
Sobs are heard from the ward
But from the mouth of babes, no escapes
In this obscene behind mortuary drapes...