Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

Flying
I alway how crazy things 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 in my brother's eye
the pence...
a of blunt instruments.
Still uncertain when woken
or what constitutes a mind,
though the thought unspoken
I I'm flying blind.
Breaking into cold sweat on the coals
the pennies from heaven 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 so cool to be that kind...
my tongue writhed to some retraction
but I
I was blind.
I want to be fast, down to the power-drive;
I the zero-gravity heroes to play dead,
but alive.
We want it to be slow, all the way to
we talk about a things that never change at all.
No, it change...
It was then that I knew I'd been -
something had my mind:
I'd strapped myself the Fortress
but the was flying blind.
We got full clearance, so someone there
ought to the truth of our disappearance -
If that still shows it accuses and blames me,
but nothing was what it seemed.
Sometimes things out so strangely
it might as well all be dreamed.
The White Cane
The White Cane in Morse code,
try to shake the message,
the load;
only sin, running on the spot -
the dance begins.
Where does a man go when the cramp?
Try to out a postcard on a postage stamp
a drawing pin punching out the Braille
for the within?
the contango on your future stock;
paying backwardation, hold onto you've got -
a sideways grin! Some day you may need
to trade in.
If we ride this
the future will in our hands.
If we the flight
the future will out -
that black and white.

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

for a call
to him from responsibility.
goes to see him any more
except for the man the ministry.
He to be, he wanted to be
the man at the helm, in command of the
he's flying a chair, beyond control;
going to have just one more chance
at a roll.
All in a dream, all as a dream,
the colours too bright, the music too -
the black-out world has just to show.
These cracked-out I offer...
but I don't know.
Cool suffuse the colour gun -
oh come in, in number one:
your nearly run.
the frame,
the present and the hold 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 make a -
no-one wants to be the first, admitting that know
how anythings that's gone here
could fit into an groove...
W
ait for the move,
for some action we all can approve.
Too much to drink, for the cup down to the sea;
too much to think, the pressuring me.
down the weather for an Easter parade,
reeling out the 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 us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the two-piece something rips undone...
Wait for the 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 hope that it all might change. (oh, but it will...)
A fly-leaf the library shows others have been here before,
tried, failed and kicked out the
the aircrew don't anymore -
not just wait
for the of the silk-worm wing,
wait for the to come down on us
- full of the law.
Silk-Worm
force of gravity pulls me down,
I'll be better off out of
aerobatic around,
take my chances in the open air.
Sycamore wings
or Candle to the ground,
only one thing for shure:
when the balloon up
the aeronaut down.
He say nothing is what it seems,
he say is quite what it seems;
I say is nothing.
A Box
Softly, the sing their time and space refrain:
there's in everything if you can only pin down its name
Aerobatic at the back of my mind -
Is it nothing but the looping we all follow?
but the spiral twist of DNA
There'll be no back from tomorrow on today.
So the wire is tripped, split-seconds defect to successors;
the umbilical cord is -
we all are in free fall.
I stall I am, as if to see where I've been:
running down the looping line we all follow,
only chasing down the twist of DNA -
can be no looking on to tomorrow from today.
Life/death/night/day - cold breath will fly away.
Is the of sensation locked in a black box
deep in me, encoded there
It fires the to fly on a wing and a prayer
through my
- is how it is?
There'll be no back on this...
is now, which will be then -
is this the All I know for shure is
is the end.
No back from tomorrow,
no, there'll be no looking back on
better be on to tomorrow...
better on today.
All lyrics by Hammill
Published by Hit and Run Music Ltd.
by permission.
S-type records, 55-59 Ave., London W.I.
by Jet
--