Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & - Matt Harvey]

infant is a breach birth debacle
Natal necrolysis, destined for a bottle
Caesarean section reveals the tot
An infant, in its womb borne to rot

Livid and stiff ere its first is claimed
The rigid bundle of joy, catatonically
Cold, dead and as it's exhumed from the womb
The uterus its cradle, and its fetid tomb...

Only left for playthings
Swaddling clothes bloody but not chafing
by embalming solution
As the trocar the cold blood's dilution...

Festered fetus from the cavity in which it was conceived
Birth and now unified, as the grotesque infant is retrieved
Livid osteopedion, breathless lungs still, and dry
Birth is just a folly when in being born one dies

Birth and death in one fell breath, the corpse from her guts
The morbid birthing is lavaged, torn and cut
Another tiny life that ended it could begin
Another piece of human offal, to end up in the bin...

Neither gurgles nor escape its lifeless blue lips
Placenta disgorges amniotic as the umbilical cord rips
Morbid chymes fall on deaf little ears
As the infant incites parents to bitter tears...

Obstetric
With a for a crib
for an autopsy
bag for a bib...

Hush little baby, don't say a
going to have to get a casket reserved
But if body is too decomposed
The coffin door will have to stay

A in her arms
Not from harm
When the water breaks, the will rot
A chyme with no happy ending, left in the wastebasket, dead and
forgot...

[Lead -

Another corpse to for pathologists and their ilk
Nursed on embalming fluid, no use crying over silt milk
Silent baby stilled
The doctor's gloved hands deliver the babe into a that now is filled

Morbid anatomy technicians are the child's only
dissecting, the infantile inanimate
A dissecting table serves as the young one's tomb and trundle
As inquisitive butchery, splays this rotten bundle...

Dead ever being alive to die
Eyes closed forever ere the first tear dry
Mouth sealed by mortis before the first newborn cry
infant on the table, dead-cut and dry...

Newborn
playpen is a slab
Lifeless
toes to be tagged...

Now I lay you down to
Your putrid flesh not long to
If you should rot before you
Then leave your corpse for the to take

In the cold in the sterile, dead morgue
Sobs are heard the maternity ward
But from the mouth of babes, no sound
In this nativity behind mortuary drapes...