Luyện nghe bài hát Fly Boy Blue / Lunette

It's a ballet
Air traffic
I'm a baby
thoughts, scotch, dinner
And someone's on the box
A MP
And no one was

My oldest friends are a habit
Fly boy blue, so your faces home,
To my sweet
And acres of site love

Someone's on the box
A MP
And no one was
My oldest friends are a serious
Fly boy blue, so bring faces home
To my trampoline
And acres of crash site

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

What can be said of the cigarette
A prop for a joke or a mark on the
If I stopped the bus ever come
Would the dawn ever kiss me, me, knowing what's done
Would the drivel make scribble make and then song
Would the woodbines denied like the man's thumbs
Perverse as it may I sometimes believe
The tip to my just reminds me to breathe

What can be said of the and wine
Random or ballast for joy
was scuppered with trust, little more than a boy
And besides I'm in company
I'm reaching the age when decisions are
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 whiskey and a bundle of in my grave

But there isn't yet for the comfort I get
From the 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 mischief appears either side of the scar on your
Made by a rose thorn, so you
By a rose