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. Sobbing from the mouth of the demagogue wells, making wisecracks, spilling from 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 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 a message in the marrow of the knife, with the extension of Baphomet* transfusion.
to the animals, perversions of their former selves, patiently biting 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 useless ritual, and all for nothing, 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 giraffe choke in midair squeal, some sort of indication.
Only it was the hands of the followers that had left their markings in 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 collapsing in collective 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 vats of obesity.
The feud had been sucking teeth for some time now, but the only baggage that paraded about was the curtain 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 in the nest of albino eyelids blinking out chemical obscurities to the blind.
It into a hemmorrhaged contraption that impopulated the disenchanted, one by one.
All the churches were converted into quarantine facilities, inside them grew bacterial stubble by larvae, contracting and teething.
A newborn litter degradively sufficient, running from the horse collarbone, amongst the murmuring femurs in fractures.
"Are you the polaroid you thought you were?", it said with a coy smirk.
the position now vacant, it waltzed right in and made itself at home.
Seduced by the empty 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.