Luyện nghe bài hát Closer To You

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

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

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

Or maybe you're the bay girl
in Wandsworth Town, in ripped jeans and open
painting the difficult corner of an room
under a naked bulb
leaning the bar at the top of your stepladder
at the precise moment I'm on the steep street
at the bottom of your in the gathering night
delight

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

Or maybe you're the foundation
at the Central School, looking so
I could carry you home in portfolio case
laced up so you won't cry out on the bus
and give the game
tied up lightly, girl
how I knowingly injure someone
with perfect lips and wrists, your exquisite structure
Oh, little acrylic painter, I can kiss eggshells, I can be
all the say I'm such a sensitive singer

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

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

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

But some of those bitter records
records accuse women, girls like you
of using your attractiveness wantonly and
to trap and to men
who wanted you and could never you
men who felt the perverse urge
to trash the women desired the most
men who imagined they all those immaculate visions
what adolescent crap, what kind of idiot would sing
Oh, not me because, you

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

But sometimes I that 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 done it if they'd been as beautiful as you
sitting cross-legged there with music
around a promise, there where your thighs meet
of fertility a million artists compete with

Ooo, true:
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 and misogyny vanishes into thin air
and I'm moved to tears just any other sucker
been bruised by all the things that weren't to be
and yet who's to fall down on his knees
in of a woman, and say:
"Whatever you may do, you may be to me
despite the times we disagree, ridiculous ambitions
your inhibitions
I want you to know I respect you
I accept you and I you to accept me
I to kiss you, kiss your stockinged knee
accept the uniquely soft
on the of your hips,"

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

And I've won you
when fallen down in front of you, and said:
"Damn Franz Kafka, damn the White Duke
(damn the White Duke)
you and you alone I'm doing this for,"
When I'm with heroes and pastiche
(throwing in lovers' eyes)
when let me make love 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 of Paul Klee's epitaph:
"Here lies the painter Paul
somewhat closer than usual to the heart of
but far from enough,"

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