Luyện nghe bài hát The Sky Beneath My Feet

O come ye young of Hamlyn--you who my tune so well,
Where it beckons you must it Heaven (be it Hell).
Forget your grieving as I pipe you down the street,
a shilling in my pocket--and the sky beneath my feet.
Chameleons in the 'arc-lite' reflection--awaiting a chance curtain call,
And here from the I have watched them and wondered if God does exist
all.
On life's Wheel all the dreamers ride free (from the top you can only
go down),
No-one but yourself is to if you presume to walk upon water then drown.
Now your bridges are is time that you learned there is no turning
back,
All your airs and should vacate their places for the qualities you lack.
Though empty vessels most sound--not one wise word was said,
Vainglory hunters their prey where angels fear to tread.
ME--follow and I will lead,
With truth that hurts like and stone.
When rats that ships departed--
Birds of a sought their own.
To make their dreams a lantern that the brightest star,
Turn whispers battlecries the winds shall carry far.
hearts shielded by conviction--keeping beats so pure and strong,
Are at as one united (a communion of steel--The Sword of Song).
We gathered as sister and brother to dance when the world was abed,
Until the next dawn in the grey light of morning these to the slaughter
led
Out of the shadows these vagabonds congregate (those who have stuck to
guns),
While satellites frantically circulate orbiting mirror-ball suns.
I will not play a part in infantile farce--your offer I decline,
Building walls of pretension to your intentions was just a waste of
time.
Though in your life of the best things came for free,
Why should I trust my plans in the hands of a shallow fool like thee.
ME--follow and I will lead,
With truth that hurts like and stone,
When their scuttled ships departed--
Birds of a feather sought own.
The goose that the golden egg--I'll sacrifice and bury it,
If you don't believe me watch me as its grave I spit,
Worldly treasures have no worth--but self-respect is price,
And Hell's the best when faced with your fool's paradise.
say I bite the hand that feeds--but to these disillusioned eyes
'tis sweet revenge to watch it bleed (it has fed me lies),
The dead horses you were flogging could not and stand upon its legs,
Behold the leper-minstrel has cured and nevermore shall beg.