Luyện nghe bài hát Symposium Of Sickness

That's why I it so amusing
That the Latter-day of our business
One, attribute to me motives that just weren't
And two accuse me of morality
Which I wish I had the to do, prepare to die

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

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

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

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

to out own nadir
Reality we try to
Trying to a twisted smile
Similar to that plate

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

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

out skilful words
Which shear brittle
Always spelt out
We can't leave the dead alone

Monographic
A terminal doctrine of diseased minds
epigrams
Eschatological, requiems

Always our own worst
of scorching scorn
Digging our own
But never stand and mourn

The now pandemonium
Displaced in the sods
Espoused the macabre
The we filch and rob

Munificant
From the deviants

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

Epigraphic text, a vex
The macabre perplexed, with corporeality

Euthenic
An unpleasant journey to a world
epigraphs
Eschatological

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

The now pandemonium
Heard out in the muddy
with the bizzare
We on our own turf

text
A macabre rality

Execrations, literary of atrocities fairy
Exoneration, harsh, cold bloody
Excogitation, a eutechnique
Exculpitation, artworks, so unique

text, a literary vex
The macabre perplexed with meshed