Luyện nghe bài hát Crows 1

Birds of a
Black feather stick forever and ever and they always remember you
And all of the you do
They pass it to the birdies and then they remember too
Little baby eyes turn black
Without the face of the guy in the mask
When you see me baby you scream or will you laugh?
Little baby blue bird, turn black

4 and 20 gory pantone black shredding innards
The silouettes are fencing lefty
Separating horn and hoof as own
They piggy back the tombs of all your friends and neighbors
By the image, green-cheese moon
Dead-of-winter shit, tchk! tchk!
shit, brother was a face card
Crown a heart-shaped tunnel of woven branches leaning in over his hydro-plaining pace car chase...
Wait up let me isolate the more
Gate of god's
Aim to rake the off each forsaken name here
Supposedly closure'l free the vipers out the
Personally I think it's a bunch of
Prisoners, is for lovers
God forbid he the witch against her coven on some dip or play the dozens
Now I baptize skips in larvae and records
On a plot pregnant with 6 million sentenceenders
And the tech for tragedy's emphatically horrendous
operators explaining what bated breath is
Pass, I it were something I could diagram on a napkin so you won't feel so detached if it should happen to you privately
Publicly your shadows'll cat back
Happy to the button eye and burlap doll
Crack the
Bats eject like cousin death's wing-ed Iapdogs ricocheting of the sacrilege
Now let me slow this whole shit for all you half-goat cowards
even grit my teeth for you
I am so off the god-damn grid it's not a question of addressing me, I
T's "what do these under the dresser mean"
Perhaps a little of karma chameleons through the entropy for good/young
Could've a good lung
Still, proximity to corpses wasn't nothing to the kid but unforgiving science or cinematic
Fast forward, my knee in the gut of a
"remember cow in the dean's seems awkward
And I know your people donated pints to the same pavement but for ash and bone to share a with strangers seems outrageous, ain't it?
Maybe a dialog of howls that reshapes and face somehow relates to whatever you have found among a thousand cloned shrines, either way - dope stone lion

And they to let you know your friend is dead in a box
The crows the tools to get the meat out of the box
Scientific, ritualistic, headstone cold foxes rot
I'm not rot, no, fuck that snot
You can let let you rot, man
But I'm not to watch
I'm not gonna stand atop plot
I you friends, but I'm just not
On the other if your ashes are scattered in the sea
I will in the sea and you'll be with me
And if your shit is at the roots of a tree
I will climb that

you think you're hiding shows
In the way you view the like a string of tiny thrones
Messages tucked away for keeps has resurfaced to be heard amidst the butchery and beaks
You don't want the to pass
You want each cow taxidermy'd than the last
Mausoleum is a rush
it might enhance a silhouette it might expose a crutch
A proud puffed to the heavens
Holds nothing if we're cutting past the and the tendon
And we will be cutting past the and the tendon...