Luyện nghe bài hát Closer To You

And maybe you're the Line girl
trying so hard not to let on you
I'm looking at the way your poke out through your sandals
at funny angles to feet
and how you it turns me on

Or maybe you're the girl
playing with your hair as you wait for friend
in that wild of mirrors the Tate calls a coffee shop
And I can smell hair from here
and I can see eight different angles
the way your nipples look through thin black cotton top
to infinity
And oh God, it's places that and purple-tipped prose like this
going to hemorrhage me, girl

Ooo, true:
Girl, I'm only it to be closer to you

Or maybe the bay window girl
in Wandsworth Town, in ripped jeans and Venetians
the difficult corner of an empty room
white a naked bulb
leaning the bar at the top of your stepladder
at the precise moment I'm passing on the steep
at the bottom of your garden in the night
voyeur's

Ooo, it's
Girl, I'm doing it to be closer to you

Or maybe you're the painter
at the Central School, so fine-boned
I could carry you home in your case
laced up so you won't cry out on the bus
and the game away
up lightly, because girl
how could I injure someone
with your lips and wrists, your exquisite structure
Oh, acrylic painter, I can kiss eggshells, I can be ginger
all the critics say I'm a sensitive singer

Ooo, true:
Girl, I'm only doing it to be to you

And maybe you're to my voice now
on your Walkman or bedsit Dansette
letting my songs slip you on this quiet night
in with your pads of doodles and your full of pencils
and low tar
And the music's light and so you hardly notice
what I'm singing in "Paper Wraps Rock"
And "Murderers, the of Women,"
my is just a sound that pleases you
that you and leaves you just the same
and how I want it to stay, because, you know

Ooo, it's
Girl, I'm only it to be closer to you

But some of those were bitter
records which accuse women, girls you
of your attractiveness wantonly and willfully
to and to paralyze men
who wanted you and never have you
men who sometimes felt the urge
to trash the women they the most
men who they despised all those immaculate visions
adolescent crap, what kind of idiot would sing that?
Oh, not me because, you

Ooo, true:
Girl, I'm doing it to be closer to you

But sometimes I think every man who writes
every man who paints or composes, soul or symphonies
it makes no difference, all those men are making do with substitutes:
Solomon, Confucius, Kafka
they'd never have done it if been as beautiful as you
sitting cross-legged there with music
lapping around a promise, there your thighs meet
of fertility a million couldn't compete with

Ooo, it's
Girl, I'm only doing it to be to you

And all the I see you there
in the eye of my mind, and all that macho stuff
about de Sade and misogyny into thin air
and I'm moved to just like any other sucker
who's been bruised by all the that weren't to be
and yet who's ready to fall on his knees
in front of a woman, and
"Whatever you may do, you may be to me
despite the we disagree, your ridiculous ambitions
conventional inhibitions
I want you to that I respect you
I you and I want you to accept me
I want to kiss you, kiss your stockinged
accept the soft flesh
on the undersides of hips,"

Ooo, it's
Girl, I'm only it to be closer to you

And when won you
when I've fallen down in of you, and said:
"Damn Franz Kafka, damn the White Duke
(damn the Thin Duke)
it's you and you I'm doing this for,"
I'm through with heroes and pastiche
(throwing in lovers' eyes)
when you've let me make to you
the slowest, deepest way that I how
(when you do for me, baby)
and it feels so good (bear me)
that's when I'll think of Paul epitaph:
"Here lies the painter Klee
closer than usual to the heart of creation
but far from enough,"

And girl, I lie
far close enough to you...