Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

i) Blind

I always forget how things are
so it catches me off my guard
when make sense.
The line on the trail the arrow in the sky,
I search for the in my brother's eye
the pence...
a time of instruments.
Still when I've woken
or constitutes a conscious mind,
though the remains unspoken
I know I'm blind.

Breaking into cold sweat on the coals
the pennies from heaven through my soul:
it relent.
At the back end of dreams I'm to awake...
I offer my but just can't shake
that seventh
to there's no defense.
It seemed the was for action,
it seemed so cool to be kind...
my tongue writhed to form retraction
but I I was flying blind.

I things to be fast, down to the power-dive;
I want the heroes to play dead,
but alive.
We want it to be slow, all the way to
we talk about a thousand that never change at all.
No, it change...

It was then that I I'd been thoughtless,
something had my mind:
I'd strapped myself into the
but the Fortress was blind.
We got clearance,
so down there ought to know
the of our disappearance -
If even that still shows it and blames me,
but was quite what it seemed.
Sometimes things out so strangely
it might as well all be dreamed.

ii) The White Fandango

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

Where does a man go the muscles cramp?
Try to write out a postcard on a stamp
with a drawing pin punching out the
for the whole

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

If we ride this
the future fall in our hands.
If we survive the
the future work out -
nothing's that and white.

iii)

The colour-coded are spread,
but we're still deep into the red,
the is dead
every valve open.
The radar screen monochrome,
air traffic controller to get on home,
for a phone call
to him from responsibility.
Nobody 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 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 world has just to show.
These cracked-out I offer...
but I don't know.

blue suffuse the colour gun -
oh in, come in number one:
your time's run.
the frame,
the present and the hold fast...
It's too fast, the don't,
the won't,
the don't last.

iv)

The rolling dice clash together, never make up the
old device, the ejector seat, glued to the floor.
Everybody waits for to make a show,
no-one wants to be the first, admitting that know
how anythings gone down here
could fit an analytic groove.
Wait for the move,
for some action we all can approve.

Too much to drink, for the cup reaches down to the
too much to think, the pressuring me.
Rolling down the weather for an parade,
out the Maydays in the hope of being saved,
but the radio ham's out blood -
no, no, not listening.
The cricketer his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of factual 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 that the ladder becomes.

A hits the cockpit, willing to chance his game:
out his gun and cocks it
in the that it all might change.
(Oh, but it will...)
A fly-leaf from the library others have been here before,
tried, failed and out the door;
the aircrew don't anymore.
Now just wait
for the beat of the wing,
wait for the heat to down on us
force of the law.

v) Silk-Worm

force of gravity pulls me down,
I'll be off out of there;
spin around,
I'll take my chances in the 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 is quite what it seems,
he say nothing is quite it seems;
I say is nothing.

vii) A Box

Softly, the angels sing time and space refrain:
there's something in everything if you can pin down its name
Aerobatic thoughts at the back of my -
Is it nothing but the looping we all follow?
Nothing but the twist of DNA?
There'll be no looking from tomorrow on today.

So the is tripped, split-seconds defect to their successors;
the umbilical is ripped -
we all are in free fall.
I where I am, as if to see where I've been,
running down the looping line we all follow,
only down the spiral twist of DNA.
There can be no looking on to tomorrow today.

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

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