Luyện nghe bài hát The Bible And The Breathalyzer

Among the tattered dwelling of the new found home, in the furthest cramped corner sat the shell of a goat head strangled in copper wire, scraped of it's insides, unwashed behind the ears, fueling the crooked names by leeches.
To a thinning cowlick's fat his crippled limp, dragging along the hump of the floor. Sobbing the smacking mouth of the demagogue wells, making wisecracks, spilling from the corners with their pink flinches, second glancing their every move.
It ate pickled nose cartilage that fell from the ceilings, a drizzle unnerving the humans, while it read aloud from it's favorite books, in glossylalia slang and hierospecks truths, following a slow and patient wait, a mocking their hair as it was glued to their upper lip combover.
Under the wall, the ships smeared by faithfully the magnum fanatics and their bottles of scalp soup.
They cooked up a tardis smudge on their eyes, a lunar antidote that powdered underneath the oncoming pestilence of idling fingers.
It wrote them a seance, penetrated every dependant desire.
It off the central headpiece to the collective.
It them a message in the marrow of the knife, with the extension of Baphomet* transfusion.
Glued to the animals, perversions of their former selves, patiently biting their looking for a clue.
As soon as it to appear, the faithful fell under the spell of public execution.
It had been an eternity filled with useless ritual, and all for nothing, promising salvation, but only flags came swarming around for a taste.
What was left were the scraps, dressed in animal skin, defiled holding their breath, fatherless culprits blaming their kin, waiting for an answer.
thought a day would come, or a giraffe might choke in midair squeal, some sort of indication.
Only it was the of the followers that had left their markings in neatly packed dunes filled with the decapitated remains, found sealed in sand.
It only the conscious for a brief moment, then came disgust.
Realizing there was nothing to it, people began collapsing in states of drought.
Palm-size vents heating in the chest, cluttering the graph, a full of remains.
Nothing became of them because nothing was the reason, an apathetic display dripping into of obesity.
The had been sucking teeth for some time now, but the only baggage that paraded about was the curtain epidermis unfolded in an inebriated suit.
The fit suffocating, feathering the boa-constricted paleness, frostbitten, and shovel-faced.
It before them in utter confidence, flares of pink owls in the nest of albino eyelids blinking out chemical obscurities to the blind.
It bloomed a hemmorrhaged contraption that impopulated the disenchanted, one by one.
All the churches were converted into facilities, inside them grew bacterial stubble compacted by larvae, contracting and teething.
A newborn litter degradively sufficient, running from the horse collarbone, amongst the femurs wimpering in fractures.
"Are you the polaroid shot you thought you were?", it said a coy smirk.
With the position now vacant, it waltzed right in and made at home.
Seduced by the empty nominations at the altar of broken ballot boxes, closer to that nothingness that everyone to embrace.
As it pissed all over them, the sigh of steamed off the soaking depressants, an impending sleep was on it's way.