Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

i) Blind

I always how crazy things are
so it catches me off my guard
when make 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 I've
or what a conscious mind,
though the remains unspoken
I know I'm blind.

into 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 offer my theories but just shake
that sense
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 knew I was blind.

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

It was that I knew 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 there ought to
the of our disappearance -
If even that still shows it accuses and me,
but nothing was what it seemed.
Sometimes things out so strangely
that it might as all be dreamed.

ii) The White Cane

The White Fandango in Morse code,
try to shake 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 postcard on a postage
with a drawing pin out the Braille
for the whole

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

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

iii)

The charts are spread,
but we're still deep into the red,
the radio is
every blown open.
The radar screen monochrome,
air traffic wants to get on home,
waiting for a phone
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, beyond control;
he's going to have one more chance
at a roll.

All in a dream, all as a dream,
the colours too bright, the music too -
the black-out world has just to show.
These cracked-out I offer...
but I still know.

blue suffuse the colour gun -
oh come in, in number one:
your time's run.
the frame,
the present and the hold fast...
too fast, the thing don't,
the won't,
the don't last.

iv)

The rolling clash together, never make up the score;
old device, the ejector seat, glued to the floor.
Everybody waits for everyone to a show,
wants to be the first, admitting that they know
how that's gone down here
fit into an analytic groove.
Wait for the move,
for some action we all can approve.

Too much to drink, for the cup reaches to the sea;
too to think, the barometer pressuring me.
down the weather for an Easter 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
don't help us to fly the
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the tartan two-piece something undone...
Wait for the to run
wait for the snake the ladder becomes.

A passenger hits the cockpit, to chance his game:
pulls out his gun and it
in the hope that it all change.
(Oh, but it will...)
A fly-leaf from the library shows others have here before,
tried, failed and kicked out the
the aircrew care anymore.
Now just wait
for the of the silk-worm wing,
wait for the to come down on us
full of the law.

v) Wings

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

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

vi) Nothing is

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

vii) A Box

Softly, the sing their time and space refrain:
there's something in everything if you can only pin down its
Aerobatic thoughts at the of my mind -
Is it nothing but the line we all follow?
but the spiral twist of DNA?
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 running the looping line we all follow,
only down 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 there
It the imagination to fly on a wing and a prayer
through my life. Is how it is?
(There'll be no looking on this...)
This is now, which be then?
Is this the
All I know for is
is the end.

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