Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & - Matt Harvey]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A babe in her
Not safe from
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 fluid, no use crying over silt mother's milk
baby rattles stilled
The doctor's gloved hands deliver the babe a grave that now is filled

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

Dead before 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...

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

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

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