Luyện nghe bài hát Closer To You

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

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

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

Or maybe you're the bay girl
in Wandsworth Town, in ripped and open Venetians
painting the corner of an empty room
white under a bulb
across the bar at the top of your stepladder
at the moment I'm passing on the steep street
at the bottom of your garden in the gathering
delight

Ooo, true:
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 portfolio
laced up so you won't cry out on the bus
and give the game
up lightly, because girl
how could I knowingly someone
your perfect lips and wrists, your exquisite structure
Oh, acrylic painter, I can kiss eggshells, I can be ginger
all the critics say I'm such a sensitive

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

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

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

But of those were bitter records
records accuse women, girls like you
of using your attractiveness wantonly and
to and to paralyze men
who you and could never have you
men who sometimes felt the perverse
to trash the women they desired the
men who imagined they all those immaculate visions
what adolescent crap, what kind of idiot sing that?
Oh, not me because, you

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

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

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

And all the time I see you
in the eye of my mind, and all cheap macho stuff
about de Sade and misogyny vanishes into air
and I'm moved to tears just any other sucker
who's been bruised by all the things 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
the times we disagree, your ridiculous ambitions
your inhibitions
I want you to that I respect you
I accept you and I you to accept me
I want to kiss you, kiss your stockinged
accept the uniquely flesh
on the undersides of hips,"

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

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

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