Luyện nghe bài hát Baker Street Muse

Baker muse

bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel.
gentleman. fly-button. feel.
In the underpass, the man stands.
cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, out of time.
You can call me on line.
Indian restaurants that my brain.
warriors changing the names they

Advertise the station stand.
With print hands.
word-player, I'll be your headline.
If you catch me time.

Didn't her --- with my baker street ruse.
Couldn't shake her --- my baker street bruise.
Like to her --- but I'm just a baker street muse.

Ale-spew, puddle-brew --- boys, it up clean.
Coke and colours them green.
the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess
With finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial is fifty feet
Down in the baker underground. (what the hell!)
Walking down the thinking,
``how the hell am I ''
Well, I didn't ask you but thanks all the same.

Pig-me and the

``big fraulein, put your weight on me,'' said the
to the whore,
Desperate for more in his assault the mountain.
man, his youth a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an at getting close to
Where he from.
In the doorway of the stars, between blandford
And
Proposition, deal. button feel. testicle testing.
Wallet ever-bulging. dressed to the left,
The of his years.
induced fears.
Shedding bell-end tears in the of her resistance.
assistance flowing generous and full
To his tool.
Pulls his eyes her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my rudder slowly turns me into the
Road.

Crash-barrier

And here slip I --- dragging one in the gutter ---
In the midnight of the shop that sells cheap
Radios.
And there she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
On a double yellow --- where she can park anytime.
Old lady grey; crash-barrier ---
Some only son's mother. street casualty.
Oh, mr. --- blue shirt ballet master.
Feet in plaster ---
Move the old on.
Strange ---
His to her juliet.
Her draught, his poisoned regret.
No drunken bums allowed to sleep in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me send her to a hotel ---
I'll pay the bill and make her - like hell you
will!
No do-good over kill. we teach them
To be more independent.

england reverie

I have no time for time magazine or stone.
I have no wish for wishing wells or bones.
I have no house in the country I have no car.
And if you think I'm joking, then I'm just a
in a public bar.
And it seems there's no-body for tennis; and i'm
A one-band-man.
And I want no top twenty funeral or a grand.

was a little boy stood on a burning log,
Rubbing his hands glee. he said, ``oh mother england,
Did you light my or did you light
fire under me?
One day be a minstrel in the gallery.
And paint you a of the queen.
And if I sing to a cynical degree ---
It's just the that it seems.''

So I drift through the baker street valley,
In my un-reality.
And when all is and all is done --- I couldn't wish
For a one.
It's a real-life ripe dead ---
That I'm a baker street muse.

to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same
Old way.
I tried to catch my eye but I looked the way.

restaurants that curry my brain ---
Newspaper warriors the names they
Advertise from the stand.
Circumcised with cold hands.

bus-stop. click. shop-window. heel.
gentleman. fly-button. feel.
In the underpass, the man stands.
With flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, breath out of ---
You can call me on line.

make her --- with my baker street ruse.
Couldn't shake her --- with my baker bruise.
Like to take her --- but I'm just a street muse.

(I get out!)