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 toes poke out through your sandals
at funny angles to feet
and how you it turns me on

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

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

Or maybe you're the bay window
in Wandsworth Town, in ripped and open Venetians
painting the corner of an empty room
white a naked 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
voyeur's

Ooo, it's
Girl, I'm doing 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 the game away
tied up lightly, because
how could I knowingly someone
with your lips and wrists, your exquisite structure
Oh, little painter, I can kiss eggshells, I can be ginger
all the say I'm such a sensitive singer

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

And maybe listening to my voice now
on your Walkman or your bedsit
letting my songs slip you on this quiet night
in with 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 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 records
records accuse women, girls like you
of using your attractiveness and willfully
to and to paralyze men
who wanted you and could never you
men who sometimes felt the urge
to trash the women they desired the
men who imagined they all those immaculate visions
adolescent crap, what kind of idiot would 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
man who paints or composes, deep soul or symphonies
it makes no difference, all those men are only making do substitutes:
Solomon, Confucius, Kafka
they'd have done it if they'd been as beautiful as you
sitting there with gentle music
lapping a promise, there where your thighs meet
of fertility a million artists couldn't 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 that cheap stuff
about de Sade and misogyny vanishes thin air
and I'm moved to tears like any other sucker
who's bruised by all the things that weren't to be
and yet ready 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 that I respect you
I accept you and I you to accept me
I want to kiss you, your stockinged knee
the uniquely soft flesh
on the undersides of hips,"

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

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

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