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.
With flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, out of time.
You can me on another line.
Indian that curry my brain.
Newspaper changing the names they

Advertise from the stand.
cold print hands.
Symphony word-player, I'll be headline.
If you catch me time.

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

Ale-spew, --- boys, throw it up clean.
Coke and colours them green.
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted
great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty
Down in the street underground. (what the hell!)
Walking the gutter thinking,
``how the hell am I ''
Well, I didn't really ask you but all the same.

and the whore

``big bottled fraulein, put your weight on me,'' the
to the whore,
Desperate for in his assault upon the mountain.
Little man, his a fountain.
Overdrafted and counting.
Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at close to
he came from.
In the doorway of the stars, between street
And
Proposition, deal. flying button feel. testing.
ever-bulging. dressed to the left, divulging
The of his years.
induced fears.
Shedding bell-end in the pocket of her resistance.
International flowing generous and full
To his tool.
Pulls his over her wool.
And he as he comes.
And my rudder slowly me into the marylebone
Road.

waltzer

And slip I --- dragging one foot in the gutter ---
In the midnight echo of the that sells cheap
Radios.
And sits she --- no bed, no bread, no butter ---
On a yellow line --- where she can park anytime.
Old lady crash-barrier waltzer ---
Some son's mother. baker street casualty.
Oh, mr. policeman --- blue ballet master.
in sticking plaster ---
Move the old on.
pas-de-deux ---
His to her juliet.
Her draught, his poisoned regret.
No drunken allowed to sleep here in the
emptiness.
Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap ---
I'll pay the bill and make her - like hell you
will!
No do-good over kill. we must them
To be more independent.

Mother reverie

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

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

So I drift through the baker street valley,
In my un-reality.
And when all is said and all is done --- I wish
For a one.
a real-life ripe dead certainty ---
That I'm a baker street muse.

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

Indian that curry my brain ---
Newspaper warriors changing the names
Advertise the station stand.
Circumcised cold print hands.

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 me on another line.

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

(I get out!)