Luyện nghe bài hát The Greatest Living Englishman

Here we are then, we are
from a suicide
And he will never be
The Greatest Englishman

It's such a melancholy
Or a grey of no
Plastic surfaces
A space to his suitcase
As passed from A to B

But it's such a melancholy
The round the bed are drawn
voices from the ward
The humming of hurt
But are distances between

Yes are distances between

His aspirations visited him
And amounted to so
Too much in his writing
Now he will never, be
The Living Englishman

The engine into second gear
They're all aboard, for
It's a journey he must make
The sheep boy is leaving home

It's rehearsed a thousand times or more
well prepared of that he's sure
But still it's a melancholy blue
As he a page of history
as he'd intended to

He wouldn't speak or show you he was
Though meet him with your eyes
There was a wall always stood between you
shut himself outside

And the love that he
never be enough
For him to alive
and tender
He'd himself outside

Not a fake or a
But dug in and fighting
The world not embrace a man
With so much in his writing

And he was never be
The Greatest Englishman
He had ideas his station
Minor go unmentioned

England you fit like a straightjacket
Hemmed by the genius of
He
To the world is not to the trace
even the shadow of the memory of your face

A of no significance