Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

Flying
I alway forget how crazy are
so sometimes it catches me off my
when make sense.
The line on the road trail the in the sky,
I for the mote in my brother's eye
the pence...
a of blunt instruments.
Still uncertain I've woken
or what a conscious mind,
though the thought unspoken
I I'm flying blind.
Breaking into cold sweat on the white-hot
the pennies heaven drop through my soul:
it relent.
At the back end of I'm amazed to awake...
I offer my theories but can't shake
that sense
to there's no defense.
It seemed the was for action,
it so cool to be that kind...
my writhed to form some retraction
but I
I was blind.
I things 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 thousand things that never at all.
No, it change...
It was then that I knew I'd been -
had slipped my mind:
I'd myself into the Fortress
but the was flying blind.
We got full clearance, so someone down
ought to the truth of our disappearance -
If that still shows it accuses and blames me,
but nothing was quite it seemed.
Sometimes things out so strangely
it might as well all be dreamed.
The White Cane
The White Fandango in Morse code,
try to shake the message,
the load;
only sin, running on the spot -
till the begins.
does a man go when the muscles cramp?
Try to write out a on a postage stamp
with a drawing pin punching out the
for the within?
Upset the contango on your future
paying backwardation, onto what you've got -
such a sideways grin! Some day you may
to that in.
If we ride right
the will fall 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 deep into the red,
the radio is
every blown open.
The radar screen monochrome,
air traffic wants to get on home,

for a phone
to release him responsibility.
Nobody to see him any more
except for the man the ministry.
He to be, he wanted to be
the man at the helm, in of the flightpath;
he's flying a chair, quite beyond
he's going to have just one more
at a roll.
All in a dream, all as a dream,
the too bright, the music too deafening -
the world has just begun to show.
These cracked-out I offer...
but I don't know.
blue suffuse the colour gun -
oh in, come in number one:
your 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 dice clash together never up the score;
that old device, the ejector seat, to the floor.
Everybody waits for everyone to make a -
wants to be the first, admitting that they know
how anythings that's down here
fit into an analytic groove...
W
ait for the move,
wait for some we all can approve.
Too much to drink, for the cup reaches down to the
too much to think, the barometer me.
Rolling down the for an Easter parade,
reeling out the Maydays in the of being saved,
but the radio out giving blood -
no, no, no, not listening.
The knows his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of this wisdom
help us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the tartan two-piece rips undone...
for the ladder to run
wait for the that the ladder becomes.
A passenger the cockpit, willing to chance 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 have been here before,
tried, and kicked out the door;
the don't care anymore -
not just wait
for the beat of the wing,
wait for the heat to come on us
- full of the law.
Wings
Full force of pulls me down,
be better off out of there;
aerobatic around,
take my chances in the open air.
Sycamore silk-worm
or Roman to the ground,
there's only one thing for
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 their time and space
something in everything if you can only pin down its name
Aerobatic thoughts at the back of my -
Is it nothing but the looping line we all
Nothing but the spiral of DNA
There'll be no looking back from on today.
So the wire is tripped, defect to their successors;
the umbilical cord is -
we all are in free fall.
I stall where I am, as if to see where I've
only down the looping line we all follow,
chasing 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 empire of sensation in a black box
deep in me, there somehow?
It fires the to fly on a wing and a prayer
through my
- is how it is?
There'll be no looking on this...
this is now, will 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;
be looking on to tomorrow...
better on today.
All lyrics by Peter
Published by Hit and Run Publishing Ltd.
by permission.
S-type records, 55-59 Ave., London W.I.
by Jet
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