Luyện nghe bài hát Flight

i) Blind

I forget how crazy things are
so sometimes it me off my guard
they make sense.
The line on the road the arrow in the sky,
I search for the mote in my eye
the pence...
a time of instruments.
Still uncertain when I've
or what constitutes a mind,
though the remains unspoken
I I'm flying blind.

Breaking into sweat 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 shake
seventh sense
to there's no defense.
It the time was for action,
it so cool to be that kind...
my tongue writhed to some retraction
but I I was flying blind.

I want things to be fast, to the power-dive;
I want the heroes to play 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 that I knew I'd thoughtless,
something had slipped my
I'd strapped myself into the
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 nothing was what it seemed.
Sometimes things work out so
that it might as all be dreamed.

ii) The White Cane

The White Cane Fandango in 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
a drawing pin punching out the Braille
for the whole

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

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

iii)

The colour-coded are spread,
but we're still deep into the red,
the radio is
every valve open.
The radar screen monochrome,
air traffic controller 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 command of the
he's a chair, quite beyond control;
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 world has just to show.
These cracked-out I offer...
but I don't know.

Cool suffuse the colour gun -
oh come in, come in one:
time's nearly run.
the frame,
the and the past hold fast...
too fast, the thing don't,
the won't,
the thing last.

iv)

The rolling dice clash together, make up the score;
that old device, the seat, glued to the floor.
waits for everyone to make a show,
no-one wants to be the first, admitting that know
how anythings gone down here
could fit an analytic groove.
Wait for the move,
wait for some we all can approve.

Too much to drink, for the cup reaches down to the
too much to think, the barometer me.
Rolling down the for an Easter parade,
out the Maydays in the hope 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 factual
help us to fly the plane
(no, and it will...)
Beneath the tartan something rips undone...
for the ladder to run
wait for the that the ladder becomes.

A hits the cockpit, willing to chance 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 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
full of the law.

v) Silk-Worm

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

Sycamore wings
or Roman to the ground,
there's only one thing for
the balloon goes up
the calm down.

vi) is Nothing

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

vii) A Box

Softly, the angels sing their time and refrain:
something in everything 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?
be no looking back from tomorrow on today.

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

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

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