Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

i) Blind

I always forget how things are
so sometimes it catches me off my
when they sense.
The line on the trail the arrow in the sky,
I for the mote in my brother's eye
the pence...
a of blunt instruments.
Still when I've woken
or what a conscious mind,
though the thought remains
I I'm flying blind.

Breaking cold sweat on the white-hot coals
the pennies from drop through my soul:
it relent.
At the back end of dreams I'm to awake...
I offer my theories but just shake
that sense
to which no defense.
It the time was for action,
it seemed so to be that kind...
my tongue writhed to form retraction
but I I was flying blind.

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

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

ii) The Cane Fandango

The White Cane in Morse code,
try to through 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 on a postage stamp
a drawing pin punching out the Braille
for the within?

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

If we this right
the future will in our hands.
If we the flight
the future work out -
that black and white.

iii)

The charts are spread,
but we're still gliding into the red,
the is dead
every blown open.
The screen flicks monochrome,
air controller wants to get on home,
for a phone call
to release him 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 of the flightpath;
he's a chair, quite 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 too deafening -
the black-out world has begun to show.
These cracked-out I offer...
but I don't know.

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

iv)

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

Too much to drink, for the cup down to the sea;
too much to think, the pressuring me.
Rolling the weather for an Easter parade,
reeling out the in the hope of being saved,
but the radio out giving blood -
no, no, not listening.
The cricketer his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of this factual
help us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the two-piece something rips undone...
for the ladder to run
wait for the snake the ladder becomes.

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

v) Silk-Worm

Full force of pulls me down,
be better off out of there;
aerobatic around,
I'll take my chances in the air.

Sycamore silk-worm
or Candle to the ground,
there's only one thing for
the balloon goes up
the aeronaut down.

vi) Nothing is

He say is quite what 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 something in everything if you can only pin its name
thoughts at the back of my mind -
Is it nothing but the looping line we all
Nothing but the spiral twist of
be no looking back from tomorrow 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 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 from today.

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

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