Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & - Matt Harvey]

infant is a breach birth debacle
Natal necrolysis, destined for a bottle
Caesarean section reveals the tot
An ossified infant, in its womb to rot

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

scalpels left for playthings
Swaddling bloody but not from chafing
Baptism by embalming
As the trocar the cold blood's dilution...

Festered fetus drawn from the cavity in which it was
Birth and now unified, as the grotesque infant is retrieved
osteopedion, breathless lungs 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 is lavaged, torn and cut
Another tiny life that ended before it could
Another of human offal, to end up in the rubbish bin...

gurgles nor cries escape its lifeless blue lips
Placenta disgorges amniotic as the umbilical cord rips
Morbid nursery fall on deaf little ears
As the dry-eyed infant 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 casket
But if your is too decomposed
The coffin door will to stay closed

A babe in her
Not safe harm
When the breaks, the cradle will rot
A nursery chyme with no happy ending, left in the wastebasket, and
forgot...

[Lead -

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

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

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

Newborn
playpen is a slab
Lifeless
toes to be tagged...

Now I lay you to sleep
putrid flesh not long to keep
If you should rot before you
Then leave your corpse for the worms to

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