Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

i) Flying

I forget how crazy 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 mote in my eye
the pence...
a time of instruments.
Still uncertain when I've
or what a conscious mind,
though the thought unspoken
I know I'm blind.

Breaking into cold sweat on the coals
the from heaven drop through my soul:
it relent.
At the end of dreams I'm amazed to awake...
I offer my theories but just can't
that sense
to there's no defense.
It the time was for action,
it seemed so to be that kind...
my tongue writhed to form some
but I knew I was 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 that never at all.
No, it change...

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

ii) The Cane Fandango

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

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

Upset the contango on your future
paying backwardation, hold onto you've got -
such a grin!
Some day you may
to that in.

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

iii)

The charts are spread,
but we're still gliding into the red,
the is dead
every blown open.
The radar flicks monochrome,
air traffic controller to get on home,
waiting for a call
to release him 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, beyond control;
he's going to have just one more
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 suffuse the colour gun -
oh come in, come in one:
time's nearly 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 dice clash together, never make up the score;
that old device, the ejector seat, to the floor.
Everybody for everyone to make a show,
wants to be the first, admitting that they know
how anythings that's gone here
fit into an analytic groove.
Wait for the move,
wait for some 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 Maydays in the 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 this wisdom
help us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the tartan two-piece rips undone...
for the ladder to run
wait for the snake the ladder becomes.

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

v) Wings

Full of gravity pulls me down,
be better off out of there;
aerobatic around,
take my chances in the open air.

Sycamore silk-worm
or Roman to the ground,
there's only one for sure:
the balloon goes up
the calm 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 time and refrain:
there's something in everything if you can only pin its name
Aerobatic at the back of my mind -
Is it nothing but the line we all follow?
but the spiral twist of DNA?
There'll be no looking back tomorrow on today.

So the wire is tripped, split-seconds defect to their
the umbilical cord is -
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,
only down the spiral twist of DNA.
can be no looking on to tomorrow from today.

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

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