Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

Flying
I alway how crazy things are
so sometimes it catches me off my
when make sense.
The on the road trail the arrow in the sky,
I search for the in my brother's eye
the pence...
a of blunt instruments.
uncertain when I've woken
or constitutes a conscious mind,
though the remains unspoken
I know I'm blind.
into cold sweat on the white-hot coals
the pennies heaven drop through my soul:
it relent.
At the back end of I'm amazed to awake...
I offer my but just can't shake
that sense
to there's no defense.
It the time was for action,
it seemed so to be that kind...
my writhed to form some retraction
but I
I was blind.
I want things to be fast, down to the
I the zero-gravity heroes to play dead,
but alive.
We it to be slow, all the way to stall;
we talk about a thousand things that never at all.
No, it change...
It was then that I I'd been thoughtless -
something had slipped my
I'd strapped myself into the
but the Fortress was blind.
We got full clearance, so someone down
ought to the truth of our disappearance -
If even that still shows it accuses and me,
but nothing was quite it seemed.
Sometimes things work out so
it might as well all be dreamed.
The White Cane
The White Cane in Morse code,
try to shake the message,
shake the
only venial sin, on the spot -
till the begins.
Where does a man go when the cramp?
Try to write out a postcard on a postage
with a drawing pin out the Braille
for the whole
Upset the contango on your stock;
paying backwardation, hold what you've got -
such a sideways grin! Some day you may
to trade in.
If we ride this
the future fall in our hands.
If we the flight
the future work out -
nothing's black and white.

The colour-coded are spread,
but we're gliding deep into the red,
the radio is
valve blown open.
The radar screen monochrome,
air controller wants to get on home,

for a phone
to him from responsibility.
Nobody to see him any more
for the man from the ministry.
He wanted to be, he to be
the man at the helm, in of the flightpath;
he's a chair, quite beyond control;
he's going to have one more chance
at a roll.
All in a dream, all as a dream,
the too bright, the music too deafening -
the black-out has just begun to show.
These words I offer...
but I don't know.
Cool blue suffuse the gun -
oh in, come in number one:
your time's run.
the frame,
the present and the past fast...
It's too fast, the don't,
the won't,
the don't last.

The rolling dice clash together never up the score;
old device, the ejector seat, glued to the floor.
Everybody for everyone to make a show -
no-one wants to be the first, that they know
how anythings gone down here
fit into an analytic groove...
W
ait for the move,
wait for action we all can approve.
Too much to drink, for the cup reaches down to the
too much to think, the pressuring me.
Rolling the weather for an Easter parade,
reeling out the Maydays in the hope of saved,
but the radio ham's out blood -
no, no, no, not listening.
The cricketer his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of this wisdom
don't help us to fly the
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the tartan two-piece something undone...
Wait for the to run
for the snake that the ladder becomes.
A passenger hits the cockpit, willing to his game:
pulls out his gun and it
in the that it all might change. (oh, but it never will...)
A fly-leaf from the library shows others been here before,
tried, failed and out the door;
the aircrew don't anymore -
not they just
for the of the silk-worm wing,
for the heat to come down on us
- force of the law.
Wings
Full force of gravity me down,
I'll be better off out of
aerobatic around,
I'll take my chances in the air.
Sycamore wings
or Roman to the ground,
there's only one thing for
when the goes up
the calm down.
He say is quite what it seems,
he say nothing is quite what it
I say is nothing.
A Box
Softly, the angels sing their time and refrain:
something in everything if you can only pin down its name
Aerobatic thoughts at the back of my -
Is it nothing but the line we all follow?
Nothing but the twist of DNA
There'll be no looking back from on today.
So the wire is tripped, defect to their successors;
the umbilical is ripped -
here we all are in fall.
I stall where I am, as if to see where been:
only down the looping line we all follow,
only down the spiral twist of DNA -
There can be no on to tomorrow from today.
Life/death/night/day - breath will surely fly away.
Is the of sensation locked in a black box
in me, encoded there somehow?
It fires the to fly on a wing and a prayer
my life
- is how it is?
be no looking back on this...
this is now, will be then -
is this the All I know for shure is
is the end.
No looking from tomorrow,
no, there'll be no back on today;
be looking on to tomorrow...
better on today.
All lyrics by Peter
Published by Hit and Run Music Ltd.
by permission.
S-type records, 55-59 Shaftsbury Ave., W.I.
by Jet
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