Luyện nghe bài hát Grotesqueries

All the indeed a corpse
And we are maggots
on arrival is our only course
And if the toe fits, tag it

Sycophants, writhing blind
off each others' regurgitation
Disgorging whatever waste we
Breeding our degradation each exhalation

Lambs to the
Feast of upon the fodder
No trompe l'oreil to
Just a drama to unfold

Gnarled within this mortal
Within which the feebly toil
of our own disease
We revel in our own

Dissecting ourselves to find nothing
Just a of perversely animated pieces
within worthwhile to revive
We're mired in our own fetid feces

Gorging our jaws with our own pathological waste
Like grubs wriggling in the rank feast of
We grind our own bones into dust futile step we take
As we inch unseeing day after day

or consumed
We all end up as chyme and
Upon the mass we choke
Leaving us in no to appreciate the sick joke

Twisted through mortal coil
Now our unctuous are brought to a boil
Somewhere between the living and the
We gag on the of our grotesqueries

Too by consumption to see our own ends
all dead and only getting deader
Digging our own graves which we gladly descend
In this cold coil we're shackled and

As we ingest each waste, in a frenzied feeding rush
everything sick and dead in our wake
Devouring other in ravening, unheeding crush
As we ourselves on all the tripe and offal we can intake

menagerie
Eschatological
We create others' atrocities
In this

Asphyxiated by mortal coil
Reaping fruits long since despoiled
our depraved lives at last surcease
We'll hunger for grotesqueries