Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

i) Blind

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

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

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

It was then that I knew I'd thoughtless,
had slipped my mind:
I'd strapped into the Fortress
but the was flying blind.
We got clearance,
so someone down there ought to
the of our disappearance -
If that still shows it accuses and blames me,
but nothing was what it seemed.
Sometimes things work out so
it might as well all be dreamed.

ii) The White Cane

The White Cane in Morse code,
try to through the message,
shake the
only venial sin, on the spot
till the begins.

Where 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 whole

Upset the contango on future stock;
paying backwardation, hold onto what got -
such a grin!
Some day you may
to trade in.

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

iii)

The colour-coded are spread,
but still gliding deep into the red,
the radio is
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 of the flightpath;
he's flying a chair, quite beyond
he's going to 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 has just begun to show.
cracked-out words I offer...
but I still know.

Cool 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.

iv)

The rolling dice clash together, never 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 that know
how anythings that's gone 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 much to think, the barometer me.
Rolling down the weather for an parade,
reeling out the Maydays in the hope of saved,
but the radio out giving blood -
no, no, not listening.
The knows his "Wisden",
the has got his "Jane's",
but the sum of factual wisdom
don't 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 passenger hits the cockpit, willing to his game:
out his gun and cocks it
in the hope that it all change.
(Oh, but it will...)
A fly-leaf from the shows others have been here before,
tried, failed and out the door;
the aircrew don't anymore.
Now they just
for the beat of the wing,
wait for the heat to down on us
force of the law.

v) Silk-Worm

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

Sycamore silk-worm
or Candle to the ground,
only one thing for sure:
when the goes up
the aeronaut down.

vi) Nothing is

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

vii) A Box

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

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

Life/death/night/day...
cold will surely fly away.
Is the empire of sensation locked in a 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, which be then?
Is the means?
All I know for is
is the end.

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