Luyện nghe bài hát The Sky Beneath My Feet

O come ye young of Hamlyn--you who know my so well,
it beckons you must follow--be it Heaven (be it Hell).
Forget your mothers as I pipe you down the street,
With a in my pocket--and the sky beneath my feet.
Chameleons bask in the 'arc-lite' reflection--awaiting a curtain call,
And from the wings I have watched them and wondered if God does exist
all.
On life's Ferris Wheel all the ride free (from the top you can only
go down),
No-one but yourself is to blame if you presume to walk upon then drown.
Now your bridges are burned--it is time that you learned is no turning
back,
All your airs and should vacate their places for the qualities you lack.
Though empty vessels made most sound--not one wise was said,
Vainglory seek their prey where angels fear to tread.
FOLLOW and I will lead,
With truth hurts like stick and stone.
rats that scuttled ships departed--
Birds of a feather their own.
To make their dreams a lantern outshines the brightest star,
Turn whispers into the winds shall carry far.
When hearts by conviction--keeping beats so pure and strong,
Are at last as one (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 light of morning these lambs to the slaughter
led
Out of the shadows these vagabonds congregate (those who have to their
guns),
While tinseltown satellites circulate orbiting mirror-ball suns.
I will not play a part in this infantile offer I decline,
Building walls of pretension to conceal intentions was just a waste of
time.
Though in your life of make-believe the things came for free,
Why should I trust my in the 'capable' hands of a shallow fool like thee.
FOLLOW ME--follow and I lead,
With truth that hurts like and stone,
When rats their scuttled departed--
Birds of a feather sought own.
The goose that lays the golden egg--I'll and bury it,
If you don't believe me watch me as its grave I spit,
treasures have no worth--but self-respect is beyond price,
And Hell's the best alternative when faced with your paradise.
Some say I bite the hand 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 rise and stand its legs,
Behold the leper-minstrel has been and nevermore shall beg.