Luyện nghe bài hát Fly Boy Blue / Lunette

It's a ballet
Air congestion
I'm having a
thoughts, scotch, dinner
And dancing on the box
A MP
And no one was

My oldest friends are a serious
Fly boy blue, so your faces home,
To my trampoline
And of crash site love

Someone's on the box
A MP
And no one was
My oldest friends are a habit
Fly boy blue, so bring your home
To my sweet
And of crash site love

Presidential
I'm just lucky
I'm a shin dig
Me, Red Bob and the ivory
And shouting on the box
A chinless gone Godzilla
My friends have forgotten my name
But so have I, so far so good and
You and me trampoline and of crash site love

can be said of the cigarette smokes
A for a joke or a mark on the clock
If I stopped the bus ever come
Would the ever kiss me, forgiven me, knowing what's done
Would the drivel scribble make sense and then song
Would the woodbines like the northern man's thumbs
as it may sound I sometimes believe
The tip to my lips reminds me to breathe

can be said of the whiskey and wine
Random abandon or for joy
was scuppered with trust, little more than a boy
And besides I'm in company
I'm reaching the age decisions are made
On life and living and I'm last ditch
That'll I'll ask for time
But mother me
I'll still want a bottle of good Irish and a bundle of smokes in my grave

But there words yet for the comfort I get
the gentle lunette at the top of the nape of the neck that I wake to

And where are the words for the leap in my
When appears either side of the scar on your nose
Made by a rose thorn, so you
By a rose