Luyện nghe bài hát The Sky Beneath My Feet

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