Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

Flying
I alway forget how crazy are
so it catches me off my guard
when they sense.
The line on the road trail the in the sky,
I search for the mote in my eye
the pence...
a time of instruments.
Still when I've woken
or what constitutes a mind,
though the thought unspoken
I I'm flying blind.
Breaking into sweat on the white-hot coals
the pennies from heaven drop through my
it relent.
At the back end of dreams I'm to awake...
I offer my theories but can't shake
seventh sense
to which no defense.
It seemed the was for action,
it so cool to be that kind...
my tongue writhed to 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 talk a thousand things that never change at all.
No, it change...
It was then I knew I'd been thoughtless -
had slipped my mind:
I'd strapped into the Fortress
but the was flying blind.
We got full clearance, so someone down
ought to the truth of our disappearance -
If even that still it accuses and blames me,
but nothing was what it seemed.
Sometimes things work out so
that it 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.
Where does a man go when the muscles
Try to write out a on a postage stamp
with a drawing pin punching out the
for the whole
Upset the contango on your future
paying backwardation, hold onto you've got -
such a 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 gliding deep into the red,
the radio is
every blown open.
The screen flicks 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 to be, he wanted to be
the man at the helm, in command of the
he's flying a chair, quite control;
going to have 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.
These words I offer...
but I don't know.
blue suffuse the colour gun -
oh come in, in number one:
your time's run.
the frame,
the present and the past fast...
It's too fast, the don't,
the won't,
the don't last.

The rolling dice together 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 they
how that's gone down here
fit into an analytic groove...
W
ait for the move,
wait for action we all can approve.
Too to drink, for the cup reaches down to the sea;
too to think, the barometer pressuring me.
Rolling down the for an Easter parade,
reeling out the Maydays in the hope of saved,
but the radio ham's out giving -
no, no, no, not listening.
The cricketer his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of this wisdom
help us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
the tartan two-piece something rips undone...
Wait for the to run
wait for the snake that the becomes.
A passenger hits the cockpit, willing to his game:
pulls out his gun and it
in the hope that it all change. (oh, but it never will...)
A from the library shows others have been here before,
tried, failed and kicked out the
the aircrew don't anymore -
not they wait
for the of the silk-worm wing,
wait for the heat to down on us
- full of the law.
Silk-Worm
Full force of gravity me down,
I'll be better off out of
spin around,
I'll my chances in the open air.
silk-worm wings
or Candle 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 sing time and space refrain:
there's something in everything if you can only pin down its
Aerobatic thoughts at the back of my -
Is it nothing but the line we all follow?
Nothing but the twist of DNA
There'll be no looking back tomorrow on today.
So the wire is tripped, split-seconds defect to successors;
the umbilical is ripped -
we all are in free fall.
I where I am, as if to see where I've been:
only running down the line we all follow,
only chasing down the spiral of DNA -
There can be no looking on to tomorrow today.
Life/death/night/day - cold breath surely fly away.
Is the empire of sensation in a black box
deep in me, encoded there
It the imagination to fly on a wing and a prayer
my life
- is how it is?
There'll be no looking on this...
this is now, which will be -
is this the means? All I for shure is
is the end.
No looking back tomorrow,
no, there'll be no looking back on
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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