Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

Flying
I alway how crazy things are
so sometimes it me off my guard
when they sense.
The line on the trail the arrow in the sky,
I search for the mote in my eye
the pence...
a of blunt instruments.
Still uncertain I've woken
or constitutes a conscious mind,
though the remains unspoken
I know I'm blind.
Breaking into sweat on the white-hot coals
the pennies from heaven drop my soul:
it relent.
At the end of dreams I'm amazed to awake...
I offer my theories but can't shake
seventh sense
to there's no defense.
It the time was for action,
it seemed so to be that kind...
my tongue 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 never change at all.
No, it change...
It was then that I knew I'd thoughtless -
something had my mind:
I'd myself into the Fortress
but the Fortress was blind.
We got full clearance, so down there
ought to know the of our disappearance -
If even that still shows it and blames me,
but was quite what it seemed.
Sometimes things out so strangely
that it as well all be dreamed.
The White Cane
The Cane Fandango in Morse code,
try to shake the message,
the load;
only sin, running on the spot -
the dance begins.
Where does a man go the muscles cramp?
Try to out a postcard on a postage stamp
with a pin punching out the Braille
for the whole
Upset the contango on future stock;
paying backwardation, hold what you've got -
such a sideways grin! day you may need
to trade in.
If we this right
the future fall in our hands.
If we survive the
the will work out -
nothing's that and white.

The charts are spread,
but we're gliding deep into the red,
the is dead
every valve open.
The screen flicks monochrome,
air traffic controller to get on home,

for a phone
to him from responsibility.
goes to see him any more
except for the man the ministry.
He wanted to be, he to be
the man at the helm, in command of the
he's a chair, quite beyond control;
he's going to have just one chance
at a roll.
All in a dream, all as a dream,
the colours too bright, the music too -
the black-out has just begun to show.
cracked-out words I offer...
but I still know.
Cool suffuse the colour gun -
oh come in, come in number
your time's run.
the frame,
the present and the hold fast...
too fast, the thing don't,
the won't,
the thing last.

The dice clash together never make up the score;
that old device, the seat, glued to the floor.
Everybody waits for everyone to a show -
no-one wants to be the first, admitting that know
how anythings that's down here
could fit into an groove...
W
ait for the move,
wait for some we all can approve.
Too much to drink, for the cup down to the sea;
too to think, the barometer pressuring me.
Rolling down the weather for an parade,
out the Maydays in the hope of being saved,
but the radio ham's out giving -
no, no, no, not listening.
The knows his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of factual wisdom
don't help us to fly the
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the tartan something rips undone...
for the ladder to run
wait for the that the ladder becomes.
A passenger hits the cockpit, willing to chance his
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 care anymore -
not they just
for the beat of the wing,
wait for the heat to come 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 in the open air.
Sycamore silk-worm
or Roman to the ground,
there's only one thing for
the balloon goes up
the calm down.
He say is quite what it seems,
he say nothing is quite it seems;
I say is nothing.
A Box
Softly, the sing their time and space refrain:
there's something in if you can only pin down its name
Aerobatic at the back of my mind -
Is it nothing but the line we all follow?
Nothing but the twist of DNA
be no looking back from tomorrow on today.
So the is tripped, split-seconds defect to their successors;
the umbilical cord is -
here we all are in fall.
I stall where I am, as if to see where I've
only running the looping line we all follow,
only down the spiral twist of DNA -
There can be no looking on to tomorrow today.
Life/death/night/day - cold will surely fly away.
Is the empire of locked in a black box
deep in me, there somehow?
It the imagination to fly on a wing and a prayer
my life
- is how it is?
There'll be no back on this...
this is now, which be then -
is this the means? All I for shure is
is the end.
No looking back tomorrow,
no, be no looking back on today;
better be on to tomorrow...
better on today.
All lyrics by Peter
by Hit and Run Music Publishing Ltd.
by permission.
S-type records, Shaftsbury Ave., London W.I.
by Jet
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