Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

Flying
I alway forget how things are
so sometimes it me off my guard
when they sense.
The on the road trail the arrow in the sky,
I for the mote in my brother's eye
the pence...
a time of instruments.
Still uncertain when I've
or what a conscious mind,
the thought remains unspoken
I I'm flying blind.
Breaking into cold sweat on the coals
the pennies from heaven drop my soul:
it relent.
At the back end of I'm amazed to awake...
I offer my but just can't shake
seventh sense
to there's no defense.
It the time was for action,
it seemed so cool to be kind...
my tongue writhed to some retraction
but I
I was blind.
I want things to be fast, to the power-drive;
I want the zero-gravity to play dead,
but alive.
We it to be slow, all the way to stall;
we talk a thousand things that never change at all.
No, it change...
It was then that I I'd been thoughtless -
something had my mind:
I'd myself into the Fortress
but the Fortress was blind.
We got clearance, so someone down there
ought to the truth of our disappearance -
If that still shows it accuses and blames me,
but was quite what it seemed.
Sometimes work out so strangely
that it as well all be dreamed.
The White Fandango
The White Fandango in Morse code,
try to shake the message,
the load;
only venial sin, running on the -
till the begins.
Where a man go when the muscles cramp?
Try to write out a postcard on a postage
a drawing pin punching out the Braille
for the within?
Upset the contango on future stock;
paying backwardation, hold onto what got -
such a sideways grin! Some day you may
to trade in.
If we ride right
the future will in our hands.
If we the flight
the will work out -
nothing's black and white.

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

for a call
to release him 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 flying a chair, quite control;
he's going to have just one more
at a roll.
All in a dream, all as a dream,
the colours too bright, the too deafening -
the world 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:
time's nearly run.
the frame,
the present and the past fast...
It's too fast, the don't,
the won't,
the thing last.

The rolling 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, that they know
how anythings that's down here
could fit an analytic 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 much to think, the pressuring me.
Rolling down the weather for an parade,
reeling out the Maydays in the hope of saved,
but the radio out giving blood -
no, no, no, not listening.
The cricketer his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of this factual
help us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the tartan something rips undone...
Wait for the to run
wait for the snake 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 have been before,
tried, failed and out the door;
the aircrew don't anymore -
not they just
for the beat of the wing,
wait for the heat to come on us
- full of the law.
Silk-Worm
Full of gravity pulls me down,
I'll be better off out of
aerobatic around,
take my chances in the open air.
Sycamore wings
or Roman to the ground,
there's only one for shure:
when the goes up
the aeronaut down.
He say is quite what it seems,
he say nothing is what it seems;
I say is nothing.
A Box
Softly, the angels sing time and space refrain:
something in everything if you can only pin down its name
Aerobatic thoughts at the of my mind -
Is it nothing but the looping line we all
Nothing but the spiral of DNA
be no looking back from tomorrow on today.
So the is tripped, split-seconds defect to their successors;
the umbilical cord is -
we all are in free fall.
I stall where I am, as if to see I've been:
only running down the looping we all follow,
only chasing the spiral twist of DNA -
There can be no looking on to from today.
Life/death/night/day - cold breath will fly away.
Is the empire of sensation in a black box
in me, encoded there somehow?
It fires the imagination to fly on a 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 All I know for shure is
is the end.
No back from tomorrow,
no, there'll be no back on today;
be looking on to tomorrow...
better on today.
All lyrics by Hammill
Published by Hit and Run Music Ltd.
by permission.
S-type records, Shaftsbury Ave., London W.I.
by Jet
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