Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

Flying
I alway forget how crazy are
so sometimes it catches me off my
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 when woken
or constitutes a conscious mind,
the thought remains unspoken
I know I'm blind.
Breaking into cold on the white-hot coals
the pennies from heaven drop my soul:
it relent.
At the back end of I'm amazed to awake...
I offer my theories but can't shake
that seventh
to which no defense.
It the time was for action,
it seemed so cool to be kind...
my tongue to form some retraction
but I
I was blind.
I want things to be fast, down to the
I want the heroes to play dead,
but alive.
We want it to be slow, all the way to
we about a thousand things that never change at all.
No, it change...
It was then I knew I'd been thoughtless -
something had my mind:
I'd strapped myself into the
but the Fortress was blind.
We got full clearance, so someone there
ought to know the of our disappearance -
If even that still shows it accuses and me,
but nothing was what it seemed.
Sometimes work out so strangely
it might as well all be dreamed.
The Cane Fandango
The White Cane in Morse code,
try to shake the message,
the load;
only venial sin, on the spot -
till the begins.
Where does a man go the muscles cramp?
Try to write out a postcard on a postage
with a pin punching out the Braille
for the whole
Upset the contango on your future
backwardation, hold onto what you've got -
such a sideways grin! Some day you may
to trade in.
If we this right
the will fall in our hands.
If we the flight
the future will out -
that black and white.

The charts are spread,
but we're still deep into the red,
the radio is
every blown open.
The radar screen monochrome,
air traffic controller to get on home,

for a call
to him from responsibility.
Nobody goes to see him any
except for the man the ministry.
He wanted to be, he to be
the man at the helm, in command of the
flying a chair, quite beyond control;
he's going to just 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.
cracked-out words I offer...
but I still know.
Cool suffuse the colour gun -
oh come in, in number one:
time's nearly run.
the frame,
the present and the hold fast...
too fast, the thing don't,
the won't,
the don't last.

The rolling dice clash never make up the score;
that old device, the ejector seat, to the floor.
Everybody waits for to make a show -
no-one wants to be the first, admitting that know
how anythings that's gone down
could fit into an groove...
W
ait for the move,
for some action we all can approve.
Too much to drink, for the cup reaches to the sea;
too to think, the barometer pressuring me.
Rolling down the weather for an parade,
reeling out the Maydays in the hope of saved,
but the ham's out giving blood -
no, no, no, not listening.
The cricketer his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of factual wisdom
don't us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the two-piece something rips undone...
for the ladder to run
wait for the snake that the becomes.
A passenger hits the cockpit, to chance his game:
out his gun and cocks it
in the hope that it all might change. (oh, but it will...)
A fly-leaf from the shows others have been here before,
tried, failed and kicked out the
the aircrew care anymore -
not they wait
for the of the silk-worm wing,
wait for the to come down on us
- force of the law.
Silk-Worm
Full force of pulls me down,
I'll be better off out of
aerobatic around,
I'll take my in the open air.
Sycamore wings
or Roman to the ground,
there's only one thing for
when the goes up
the calm down.
He say nothing is what it seems,
he say nothing is quite it seems;
I say is nothing.
A Box
Softly, the angels their time and space refrain:
there's something in everything if you can only pin its name
Aerobatic thoughts at the back of my -
Is it nothing but the looping 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 cord is ripped -
we all are in free fall.
I where I am, as if to see where I've been:
only running the looping line we all follow,
only down the spiral twist of DNA -
can be no looking on to tomorrow from today.
Life/death/night/day - cold will surely fly away.
Is the empire of locked in a black box
deep in me, encoded there
It fires the imagination to fly on a wing and a
through my
- is how it is?
There'll be no looking on this...
this is now, which will be -
is the means? 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 Hammill
by Hit and Run Music Publishing Ltd.
by permission.
S-type records, 55-59 Ave., London W.I.
by Jet
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