Luyện nghe bài hát Symposium Of Sickness

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

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

homage to their mammon
Whilst the is the music of the meek
Transcendence a beatifully brutal reality
Is what I

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

Chiselling out words
Which cut deep down to the
Always
So be it on our own

Rising to out own
Reality we try to
to raise a twisted smile
Similar to that plate

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

Noxious, dolour
Is not the which is bled
A train of thought
In which cattle-trucks are led

out skilful words
Which brittle bones
Always out well
We just can't the dead alone

Monographic
A terminal doctrine of diseased minds
Enunciated
Eschatological, requiems

our own worst cynics
Exorcisers of scorching
our own graves
But never stand and mourn

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

Munificant
the deviants staid

Execrations, taunting release
Exoneration, the perishable we feast
Excogitation, picking at the of convention
Exculpitation, foul conflagration

text, a literary vex
The macabre perplexed, with meshed

text
An unpleasant journey to a perplexed
Corporeal
unpleasantness

Always forever
Exercisers of twisted
you to dig up the interred
Whilst still are the wreaths

The harmony now
Heard out in the muddy
Espoused with the
We play on our own

Epithetic
A rality perplexed

Execrations, tales of atrocities fairy
Exoneration, harsh, bloody marys
Excogitation, a narcissistic
Exculpitation, artworks, so unique

Monographic text, a vex
The macabre perplexed with meshed