Luyện nghe bài hát Little Death

Now it out
Like a in the back of your mouth
Cherubs and cerebellum, Tara at Sarah's
Sam Sam
Band pushed upon the finger of hairiest hand
If that you, you a bigot
If it well then you wicked
is life
Odd as Egg at night
No answers, so let us watch these
reformed gracefully being born
On the pallet of greys, concaves and spirals
Kaleidoscope into a
It then it tidals
Vacillates then it
Babylons then it Bibles and
And me of the spinning mothers
And mathematics for beloved
And beasts' bellies like the cummerbunds of butlers

How was your day, can I make you say
I wanna hear, cause I want you here
The hell that we to the heavens do anything for
La petite mort, la mort

They keep the bottles just to make houses
Then climb up to the second and throw rocks out it
expect not a volley in reply
Some place like prolly in the eye
What of the what is it missin', is it dry?
Did it die in some inhumane so it didn't go relaxed
And attention from its demise pulled all of the flavor the fat
And made it flat and lifeless
Well a place that has a stunning [?]
And more mercifully Pisces
But barbaric are the prices
It's rather niceless, apricot in dices and slices
My son will call rices
If and when left to his own devices, well
How is memory?
Is it like a lemon tree
To bear fruit of what you meant to me
Or was it like permission am I trippin' like Phil
I feel I'm but maybe the transmission
Still left out the life, also left out the will,
Will cheese touch your teeth
Maybe kosher beef
Is it real, is it real, is it
Ha, hah!

How at the date can I make you my
Cause I want you dear, ooh, I you dear
The hell that we raised to the heavens [?] for
Our petite mort, our petite

So glad you're back, but not glad at you're glad
Where is the glamor in
in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a pattern of stab wounds
Swoon goons consumed and driven mad soon
The attended slowly fills with baboons
That other monkey
Where go free cause a junkie's a funky witness
Runny mascaras from the cunning mask wearers of
errors, sittin' like two oil derricks
Separated by a sea of cooling num
of an every day playing hum drum
Where recognition went
And solidified till it was stoic
We been poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of pentameter

How are your chains, do they you behave
Keep you over here, by your
Fallen from grace down from to memories [?]
La petite mort, la petite