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 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. from 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 talking the 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 their fingers.
It wrote them a seance, their every dependant desire.
It hacked off the central to the collective.
It wrote them a message in the marrow of the knife, the extension of Baphomet* transfusion.
Glued to the animals, perversions of their former selves, patiently their fingernails looking for a clue.
As as it failed to appear, the faithful fell under the spell of public execution.
It had been an eternity filled with ritual, and all for nothing, promising salvation, but only flags came swarming around for a better taste.
What was left the scraps, dressed in animal skin, defiled servants holding their breath, fatherless culprits blaming their kin, waiting for an answer.
They thought a day would come, or a 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 stained the conscious for a brief moment, came disgust.
there was nothing to it, people began collapsing in collective states of drought.
Palm-size vents heating in the chest, cluttering the graph, a full of remains.
Nothing became of because nothing was the reason, an apathetic display dripping into vats of obesity.
The feud had been sucking teeth for some time now, but the only baggage that paraded was the curtain epidermis unfolded in an inebriated suit.
The fit came suffocating, the boa-constricted paleness, frostbitten, and shovel-faced.
It came before them in utter confidence, flares of pink owls in the of albino eyelids blinking out chemical obscurities to the blind.
It bloomed into a hemmorrhaged contraption that the disenchanted, one by one.
All the churches were converted into quarantine facilities, them grew bacterial stubble compacted by larvae, contracting and teething.
A newborn litter degradively sufficient, running from the collarbone, amongst the murmuring femurs wimpering in fractures.
"Are you the polaroid shot you 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 steamed off the depressants, an impending sleep was on it's way.