Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

i) Flying

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

Breaking into sweat on the white-hot coals
the pennies from drop through my soul:
it relent.
At the back end of I'm amazed to awake...
I offer my theories but can't shake
that sense
to which no defense.
It seemed the was for action,
it seemed so to be that kind...
my writhed to form some retraction
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 thousand that never change at all.
No, it change...

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

ii) The White Fandango

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

Where does a man go when the muscles
Try to write out a postcard on a postage
with a pin punching out the Braille
for the whole

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

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

iii)

The charts are spread,
but we're gliding deep into the red,
the radio is
every valve open.
The screen flicks monochrome,
air controller wants to get on home,
for a phone call
to release him responsibility.
Nobody to see him any more
except for the man the ministry.

He to be, he wanted to be
the man at the helm, in command of the
he's flying a chair, quite beyond
he's to have 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 has just begun to show.
These words I offer...
but I still know.

Cool blue the colour gun -
oh come in, come in number
time's nearly run.
the frame,
the present and the past fast...
too fast, the thing don't,
the won't,
the thing last.

iv)

The dice clash together, never make up the score;
old device, the ejector seat, glued to the floor.
Everybody for everyone to make a show,
no-one to be the first, admitting that they know
how anythings that's gone down
could fit into an groove.
for the tactical move,
wait for action 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 in the hope of being saved,
but the radio ham's out giving -
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 something rips undone...
Wait for the to run
wait for the snake the ladder becomes.

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

v) Wings

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

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

vi) is Nothing

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

vii) A Box

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

So the wire is tripped, split-seconds 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 down the looping line we all follow,
only chasing 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 empire of locked in a black box
deep in me, encoded somehow?
It fires the imagination to fly on a and a prayer
my life. Is that how it is?
(There'll be no back on this...)
This is now, which will be
Is this the
All I for shure is
is the end.

No back from tomorrow,
no, be no looking back on today;
better be on to tomorrow...
think on today.