Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & Lyrixxx - Harvey]

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

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

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

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

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

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

atrocity
With a casket for a
Nursery for an
bag for a bib...

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

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

- Matt]

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

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

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

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

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

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