Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

i) Blind

I forget how crazy things are
so sometimes it me off my guard
they make 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 uncertain when woken
or constitutes a conscious mind,
the thought remains unspoken
I I'm flying blind.

Breaking into cold on the white-hot coals
the pennies from heaven drop my soul:
it relent.
At the back end of dreams I'm to awake...
I my theories but just can't shake
that seventh
to which 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 flying blind.

I want things to be fast, to the power-dive;
I want the zero-gravity heroes to 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 that I knew I'd been thoughtless,
something had my mind:
I'd strapped myself the Fortress
but the was flying blind.
We got clearance,
so someone down there to know
the truth of our -
If even that still shows it and blames me,
but was quite what it seemed.
things work out so strangely
that it might as all be dreamed.

ii) The White Fandango

The White Fandango in Morse code,
try to through the message,
the load;
only venial sin, on the spot
the dance begins.

Where a man go when the muscles cramp?
Try to out a postcard on a postage stamp
with a drawing pin out the Braille
for the within?

the contango on your future stock;
paying backwardation, hold onto you've got -
such a grin!
day you may need
to trade in.

If we ride right
the will fall in our hands.
If we the flight
the future work out -
nothing's black and white.

iii)

The charts are spread,
but we're gliding deep into the red,
the radio is
valve blown open.
The screen flicks monochrome,
air traffic wants to get on home,
waiting for a call
to release him responsibility.
Nobody goes to see him any
for the man from 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 colours too bright, the too deafening -
the black-out world has just to show.
cracked-out words I offer...
but I still know.

Cool blue suffuse the gun -
oh come in, come in number
time's nearly run.
the frame,
the present and the past fast...
It's too fast, the don't,
the won't,
the don't last.

iv)

The rolling dice clash together, make up the score;
that old device, the ejector seat, to the floor.
Everybody for everyone to make a show,
no-one wants to be the first, admitting they know
how that's gone down here
could fit an analytic groove.
for the tactical move,
wait for some we all can approve.

Too to drink, for the cup reaches down to the sea;
too to think, the barometer pressuring me.
down the weather for an Easter parade,
reeling out the Maydays in the hope of saved,
but the radio ham's out blood -
no, no, not listening.
The knows his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of factual wisdom
help us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the tartan two-piece something undone...
for the ladder 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 that it all might change.
(Oh, but it will...)
A fly-leaf from the library shows others been here before,
tried, failed and out the door;
the don't care anymore.
Now they wait
for the beat of the wing,
wait for the heat to down on us
full of the law.

v) Wings

force of gravity pulls me down,
I'll be better off out of
spin around,
I'll my chances in the open air.

silk-worm wings
or Roman to the ground,
there's only one for sure:
the balloon goes up
the aeronaut down.

vi) Nothing is

He say nothing is quite it seems,
he say nothing is what it seems;
I say is nothing.

vii) A Box

Softly, the angels sing their and space refrain:
there's in everything if you can only pin down its name
Aerobatic thoughts at the of my mind -
Is it nothing but the line we all follow?
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 is ripped -
here we all are in fall.
I stall where I am, as if to see I've been,
only running the looping line we all follow,
chasing down the spiral twist of DNA.
There can be no looking on to from today.

Life/death/night/day...
cold breath surely fly away.
Is the empire of sensation locked in a box
deep in me, there somehow?
It fires the to fly on a wing and a prayer
through my life. Is how it is?
(There'll be no back on this...)
is now, which will be then?
Is the means?
All I for shure is
is the end.

No looking from tomorrow,
no, be no looking back on today;
be looking on to tomorrow...
better on today.