Luyện nghe bài hát The Sky Beneath My Feet

O come ye young of Hamlyn--you who my tune so well,
Where it you must follow--be it Heaven (be it Hell).
Forget your mothers grieving as I you down the street,
With a shilling in my the sky beneath my feet.
Chameleons bask in the reflection--awaiting a chance curtain call,
And here from the I have watched them and wondered if God does exist
all.
On life's Ferris Wheel all the dreamers free (from the top you can only
go down),
No-one but yourself is to blame if you presume to walk water then drown.
Now your bridges are burned--it is time that you learned there is no
back,
All your airs and graces should their places for the qualities you lack.
empty vessels made most sound--not one wise word was said,
Vainglory hunters seek their prey where fear to tread.
FOLLOW and I will lead,
truth that hurts like stick and stone.
When that scuttled ships departed--
of a feather sought their own.
To make their dreams a lantern that outshines the star,
Turn whispers into battlecries the shall carry far.
When hearts shielded by conviction--keeping beats so and strong,
Are at last as one united (a of steel--The Sword of Song).
We gathered together as sister and to dance when the world was abed,
Until the next dawn in the grey light of 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 in this infantile farce--your offer I decline,
Building of pretension to conceal your intentions was just a waste of
time.
Though in your life of make-believe the best came for free,
Why should I trust my plans in the 'capable' hands of a shallow fool thee.
ME--follow and I will lead,
With that hurts like stick and stone,
When rats their ships departed--
of a feather sought their own.
The goose lays the golden egg--I'll sacrifice and bury it,
If you believe me watch me as upon its grave I spit,
Worldly treasures have no self-respect is beyond price,
And Hell's the best alternative when faced with your paradise.
Some say I bite the hand that to these disillusioned eyes
'tis sweet revenge to it bleed (it has only fed me lies),
The dead horses you were flogging not rise and stand upon its legs,
Behold the leper-minstrel has been cured and shall beg.