Luyện nghe bài hát Nativity Obscene - A Nursery Chyme

[Musick & Lyrixxx - Harvey]

Calcified infant is a birth debacle
Natal necrolysis, destined for a formaldehyde-filled
Caesarean reveals the ghastly tot
An infant, in its womb borne to rot

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

Only scalpels for playthings
Swaddling clothes but not from chafing
Baptism by solution
As the trocar the cold blood's dilution...

Festered fetus drawn from the in which it was conceived
Birth and death now unified, as the grotesque infant is
Livid osteopedion, breathless still, cold and dry
Birth is just a forensic folly when in born one dies

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

Neither gurgles nor cries its lifeless blue lips
disgorges amniotic fluid as the umbilical cord rips
Morbid nursery chymes on deaf little ears
As the dry-eyed incites parents to bitter tears...

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

Hush little baby, say a word
going to have to get a casket reserved
But if your body is too
The coffin door will to stay closed

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

[Lead -

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

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

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

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

Now I lay you to sleep
Your flesh not long to keep
If you should rot you wake
Then your corpse for the worms to take

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