Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & Lyrixxx - Matt

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

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

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

Festered fetus drawn from the in which it was conceived
and death 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 in one fell breath, extract the corpse from her guts
The birthing cavity is lavaged, torn and cut
Another tiny life that ended before it could
Another piece of offal, to end up in the rubbish bin...

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

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

Hush little baby, say a word
Mama's going to have to get a reserved
But if body is too decomposed
The coffin door will to stay closed

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

[Lead -

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

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

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

fatality
Whose is a slab
Lifeless
toes to be tagged...

Now I lay you to sleep
Your putrid not long to keep
If you rot before you wake
Then leave your for the worms to take

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