Luyện nghe bài hát The Bible And The Breathalyzer

Among the 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 spoken by leeches.
To a thinning cowlick's fat his crippled limp, dragging along the hump of the floor. Sobbing from the smacking mouth of the demagogue wells, making wisecracks, spilling the corners with their pink flinches, second glancing their every move.
It ate pickled cartilage that fell from the ceilings, a porkskin 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 talking the magnum fanatics and their of scalp soup.
They cooked up a tardis smudge on their eyes, a lunar antidote that powdered underneath the oncoming of their idling fingers.
It them a seance, penetrated their every dependant desire.
It hacked off the central to the collective.
It wrote them a message in the marrow of the knife, with the extension of transfusion.
Glued to the animals, perversions of former selves, patiently biting their fingernails looking for a clue.
As soon as it failed to appear, the faithful fell under the spell of 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 servants holding their breath, fatherless blaming their kin, waiting for an answer.
They thought a day come, or a giraffe might choke in midair squeal, some sort of indication.
Only it was the hands of the followers that had left their markings in neatly packed filled with the decapitated remains, found sealed in sand.
It only stained the for a brief moment, then came disgust.
Realizing there was to it, people began collapsing in collective states of drought.
vents heating in the chest, cluttering the graph, a bladder full of remains.
Nothing became of them because nothing was the reason, an apathetic display into vats of obesity.
The feud had been sucking teeth for time now, but the only baggage that paraded about was the curtain epidermis unfolded in an inebriated suit.
The fit came suffocating, feathering the paleness, frostbitten, and shovel-faced.
It came before them in utter confidence, flares of pink owls in the nest of albino eyelids blinking out obscurities to the blind.
It bloomed into a hemmorrhaged contraption impopulated the disenchanted, one by one.
All the churches were converted into quarantine facilities, inside them grew bacterial stubble compacted by larvae, and teething.
A litter degradively sufficient, running from the horse collarbone, amongst the murmuring femurs wimpering in fractures.
"Are you the shot you thought you were?", it said with a coy smirk.
With the position now vacant, it waltzed in and made itself at home.
by the empty nominations at the altar of broken ballot boxes, closer to that nothingness that everyone seemed to embrace.
As it pissed all over them, the sigh of relief off the soaking depressants, an impending sleep was on it's way.