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 follow--be it (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 reflection--awaiting a chance curtain call,
And from the wings I have watched them and wondered if God does exist
all.
On Ferris Wheel all the dreamers ride 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 is time that you learned there is no turning
back,
All your airs and graces should vacate places for the qualities you lack.
Though empty made most sound--not one wise word was said,
Vainglory hunters their prey where angels fear to tread.
FOLLOW and I will lead,
With truth that like stick and stone.
When rats that scuttled departed--
Birds of a feather their own.
To make dreams a lantern that outshines the brightest star,
Turn into battlecries the winds shall carry far.
When hearts shielded by conviction--keeping so pure and strong,
Are at last as one (a communion of steel--The Sword of Song).
We gathered together as sister and to dance when the world was abed,
Until the dawn in the grey light of morning these lambs to the slaughter
led
Out of the shadows these vagabonds congregate (those who have stuck to
guns),
tinseltown satellites frantically circulate orbiting mirror-ball suns.
I will not play a in this infantile farce--your offer I decline,
Building walls of to conceal your intentions was just a waste of
time.
Though in life of make-believe the best things came for free,
Why should I trust my plans in the 'capable' of a shallow fool like thee.
FOLLOW and I will lead,
truth that hurts like stick and stone,
When rats their scuttled ships
of a feather sought their own.
The goose that lays the golden sacrifice and bury it,
If you don't believe me watch me as upon its I spit,
Worldly treasures have no worth--but is beyond price,
And Hell's the best alternative faced with your fool's paradise.
Some say I bite the hand feeds--but to these disillusioned eyes
sweet revenge to watch 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 and nevermore shall beg.