Luyện nghe bài hát Symposium Of Sickness

That's why I it so amusing
That the Latter-day Saints of our
One, attribute to me motives that weren't there
And two me of corrupting morality
Which I I had the power to do, prepare to die

An encloaking, dark
In which all is now appraised
Another commodity
On which the may feebly graze

homage to their mammon
Whilst the mort is the music of the
from a beatifully brutal reality
Is I seek

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

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

to out own nadir
Reality we try to
to raise a twisted smile
Similar to silver plate

On a coffin which is
in each final nail
Last and testament
Left now

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

Carving out words
Which shear brittle
Always out well
We can't leave the dead alone

Monographic
A doctrine of diseased minds perplexed
epigrams
Eschatological, rotten

Always our own cynics
Exorcisers of scorn
our own graves
But never stand over and

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

Munificant
From the deviants

Execrations, spiritual release
Exoneration, upon the perishable we
Excogitation, picking at the bones of
Exculpitation, verbal conflagration

Epigraphic text, a vex
The macabre perplexed, corporeality meshed

Euthenic
An unpleasant journey to a perplexed
epigraphs
Eschatological

Always cryptic
Exercisers of twisted
you to dig up the interred
Whilst fresh are the wreaths

The now pandemonium
out in the muddy dirt
Espoused the bizzare
We play on our own

text
A rality perplexed

Execrations, literary of atrocities fairy
Exoneration, harsh, cold bloody
Excogitation, a narcissistic
Exculpitation, perverse artworks, so

Monographic text, a vex
The macabre perplexed with meshed