Luyện nghe bài hát Closer To You

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

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

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

Or maybe the bay window girl
in Wandsworth Town, in ripped and open Venetians
painting the difficult of an empty room
white a naked bulb
leaning across the bar at the top of your
at the precise I'm passing on the steep street
at the of your garden in the gathering night
voyeur's

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

Or you're the foundation painter
at the School, looking so fine-boned
I could carry you in your portfolio case
laced up gently so you cry out on the bus
and give the game
tied up lightly, girl
how could I knowingly injure
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, it's
Girl, I'm only doing it to be to you

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

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

But some of those were bitter
records which accuse women, like you
of using your attractiveness wantonly and
to trap and to men
who wanted you and never have you
men who sometimes the perverse urge
to trash the women desired the most
men who imagined they despised all those immaculate
what adolescent crap, what kind of would sing that?
Oh, not me because, you

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

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

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

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

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

And I've won you
when I've fallen down in front of you, and
"Damn Franz Kafka, damn the White Duke
(damn the White Duke)
it's you and you alone I'm this for,"
When I'm through with and pastiche
(throwing darts in eyes)
when you've let me make to you
the slowest, deepest way I know 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 lies the painter Klee
somewhat closer than usual to the heart of
but far from enough,"

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