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
I wish I had the power to do, prepare to die

An encloaking, dark
In which all life is now
valueless commodity
On which the paracious may feebly

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

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

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

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

On a coffin is joined
in each final nail
Last kill and
now intestate

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

Carving out words
Which shear bones
Always out well
We just can't leave the dead

Monographic
A doctrine of diseased minds perplexed
Enunciated
Eschatological, requiems

Always our own worst
Exorcisers of scorching
our own graves
But never stand over and

The now pandemonium
in the muggy sods
Espoused with the
The we filch and rob

Munificant
the deviants staid

Execrations, taunting release
Exoneration, upon the perishable we
Excogitation, picking at the bones of
Exculpitation, foul conflagration

Epigraphic text, a vex
The macabre perplexed, with meshed

Euthenic
An journey to a world perplexed
Corporeal
Eschatological

Always cryptic
of twisted grief
Helping you to dig up the
Whilst fresh 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 atrocities
Exoneration, harsh, cold marys
Excogitation, a narcissistic
Exculpitation, perverse artworks, so

Monographic text, a vex
The macabre perplexed reality meshed