Luyện nghe bài hát Symposium Of Sickness

That's why I find it so
That the Latter-day Saints of our
One, attribute to me motives just weren't there
And two accuse me of corrupting
Which I wish I had the power to do, to die

An encloaking, epoch
In all life is now appraised
Another valueless
On the paracious may feebly graze

Indebted homage to mammon
the mort is the music of the meek
Transcendence a beatifully brutal reality
Is I seek

Noxious, sully
Is not the sentiment upon which we
But precocious
out a morbid nous to bleed

Chiselling out seething
cut deep down to the bone
Always
So be it on our own

Rising to out own
Reality we try to
Trying to a twisted smile
Similar to silver plate

On a which is joined
Hammering in final nail
kill and testament
Left now

Noxious, sully
Is not the thesis which is
A precarious of thought
In which cattle-trucks are led

Carving out words
Which shear brittle
spelt out well
We just can't the dead alone

text
A terminal doctrine of diseased minds
Enunciated
Eschatological, rotten

our own worst cynics
Exorcisers of scorching
our own graves
But stand over and mourn

The roulade now
in the muggy sods
Espoused with the
The dead we and rob

Munificant
From the deviants

Execrations, taunting spiritual
Exoneration, upon the perishable we
Excogitation, picking at the of convention
Exculpitation, foul conflagration

text, a literary vex
The macabre perplexed, with corporeality

Euthenic
An unpleasant journey to a perplexed
Corporeal
unpleasantness

Always cryptic
Exercisers of twisted
Helping you to dig up the
Whilst still are the wreaths

The harmony now
out in the muddy dirt
Espoused the bizzare
We on our own turf

text
A macabre rality

Execrations, literary tales of fairy
Exoneration, harsh, cold bloody
Excogitation, a eutechnique
Exculpitation, perverse artworks, so

Monographic text, a vex
The macabre with reality meshed