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 road trail the in the sky,
I search for the in my brother's eye
the pence...
a time of instruments.
uncertain when I've woken
or constitutes a conscious mind,
the thought remains unspoken
I I'm flying blind.

Breaking cold sweat on the white-hot coals
the pennies from heaven drop through my
it relent.
At the end of dreams I'm amazed 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 tongue to form some retraction
but I I was flying blind.

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

It was then I knew I'd been thoughtless,
something had slipped my
I'd strapped myself the Fortress
but the was flying blind.
We got clearance,
so down there ought to know
the truth of our -
If that still shows it accuses and blames me,
but nothing was quite it seemed.
Sometimes things work out so
that it might as all be dreamed.

ii) The Cane Fandango

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

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

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

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

iii)

The charts are spread,
but still gliding deep into the red,
the is dead
every valve open.
The radar screen monochrome,
air controller wants to get on home,
waiting for a phone
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 of the flightpath;
he's flying a chair, beyond control;
he's going to have just one more
at a roll.

All in a dream, all as a dream,
the too bright, the music too deafening -
the black-out world has begun to show.
These cracked-out 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 thing 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, admitting that they
how anythings that's gone down
could fit an analytic groove.
for the tactical move,
wait for 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 for an Easter parade,
out the Maydays in the hope of being saved,
but the ham's 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 help us to fly the
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the two-piece something rips undone...
for the ladder to run
wait for the that the ladder becomes.

A passenger hits the cockpit, willing to chance his
pulls out his gun and it
in the hope it all might change.
(Oh, but it will...)
A fly-leaf the library shows others have been here before,
tried, failed and out the door;
the aircrew care anymore.
Now they wait
for the of the silk-worm wing,
wait for the to come down on us
force of the law.

v) Silk-Worm

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

Sycamore wings
or Candle to the ground,
there's only one for sure:
the balloon goes up
the calm down.

vi) is Nothing

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

vii) A Box

Softly, the angels sing their time and 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 twist of DNA?
There'll be no looking back from on today.

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

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

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