Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & - Matt Harvey]

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

Livid and stiff ere its first 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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Matt]

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

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

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

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

Now I lay you down to
Your putrid flesh not long to
If you should rot you wake
leave your corpse for the worms to take

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