Luyện nghe bài hát Closer To You

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

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

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

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

Ooo, true:
Girl, I'm only 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 portfolio case
laced up so you won't cry out on the bus
and give the away
tied up lightly, girl
how I knowingly injure someone
with your perfect lips and wrists, exquisite structure
Oh, acrylic painter, I can kiss eggshells, I can be ginger
all the critics say I'm such a singer

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

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

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

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

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

But sometimes I think every man who writes
every man who paints or composes, deep or symphonies
it makes no difference, all those men are only making do with
Solomon, Confucius, Kafka
they'd never have done it if they'd as beautiful as you
sitting there with gentle music
lapping a promise, there where 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 cheap macho stuff
about de Sade and misogyny vanishes into air
and I'm moved to tears just like any other
who's been bruised by all the things that to be
and yet ready 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 ridiculous
your conventional
I you to know that I respect you
I accept you and I you to accept me
I want to kiss you, kiss stockinged knee
accept the uniquely flesh
on the undersides of hips,"

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

And I've won you
when I've down in front of you, and said:
"Damn Franz Kafka, damn the Thin Duke
(damn the Thin Duke)
you and you alone I'm doing this for,"
When I'm with heroes and pastiche
(throwing in lovers' eyes)
when you've let me make to you
the slowest, deepest way I know 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 the painter Paul Klee
somewhat closer than usual to the of creation
but far close enough,"

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