Pink Floyd Quotes

Long you live and high you'll fly, and smiles you'll give, tears you'll cry and all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be

I once lost five years listening to a Pink Floyd album.

Wish You Were Here So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, Blue skys from pain. Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? And did they get you to trade Your heros for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange A walk on part in the war For a lead role in a cage? How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl, Year after year, Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

Was it love or was it the idea of being in love?

Come on you target for faraway laughter. Come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine!

There is no dark side of the Moon. It's all dark, really.

I'm in competition with myself and I'm losing.

Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath a clear blue sky?

As Carl Jung put it, “In each of us there is another whom we do not know.” As Pink Floyd sang, “There’s someone in my head, but it’s not me.

Strangers passing in the street By chance two separate glances meet And I am you and what I see is me

There's someone in my head, but it's not me.

But you have to understand, mental illness is like cholesterol. There is is good kind and the bad. Without the good kind- less flavor to life. Van Gogh, Beethoven, Edgar Allen Poe, Sylvia Plath, Pink Floyd (the early Piper at the Gates of Dawn line up), scientific breakthroughs, spiritual revolution, utopian visions, zany nationalism that kills millions- wait, that’s the bad kind. Tim Dorsey (Hurricane Punch)

Breathe, breathe in the air, Don't be afraid to care...

I took a heavenly ride through our silence I knew the moment had arrived For killing the past and coming back to life".

All you touch and all you see, is all your life will ever be

Pink Floyd was music for rich college kids, and we were the exact f**king opposite of that.

There's someone in my head, but it's not me." Pink Floyd David Eagleman

Remember when you were young? You shone like the Sun...

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell Blue skies from pain Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? Did they get you to trade Your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange A walk on part in a war For a lead role in a cage? How I wish, how I wish you were here We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl Year after year Running over the same old ground What have we found? The same old fears Wish you were here

Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit, I.

I felt like the girl who showed up at a formal dinner party in jeans and a Pink Floyd T-shirt. Probably ’cause I did that once.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain. You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today. And then one day you find ten years have got behind you. No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

There is no dark side of the moon really. As a matter of fact it's all dark.

The child is grown, the dream is gone

I guess we are juste two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl," I say. Her eyes narrow. "I've heard that somewhere before." I smile and point at her briefly. "Pink Floyd. But it's the truth." "You think we're lost?" I tilt my head back a little and look up at the stars behind her and say, "In society maybe. But together, no. I think we're right where we need to be.

Why does anyone do anything?" "I don't know, I was really drunk at the time!

Did You Exchange A Walk On Part In The War For A Lead Role In A Cage?

The band is just fantastic, that is really what I think, Oh, and by the way, which one's Pink?

All in all, you're just another brick in the wall.

All you touch and all you see, Is all your life will ever be

I'm full of dust and guitars...

CAN YOU FREE YOURSELF ENOUGH TO BE ABLE TO EXPERIENCE THE REALITY OF LIFE AS IT GOES ON BEFORE YOU AND WITH YOU, AND AS YOU GO ON AS PART OF IT? OR NOT? BECAUSE IF YOU CAN’T YOU STAND ON SQUARE ONE, UNTIL YOU DIE.

I wish I weren't single now; I need someone to lick me back to form.

One of These Days I'm Going to Cut You Into Little Pieces.

I'm treading the backward path. Mostly, I just waste my time.

Set The Controls For the Heart of The Sun.

Music social foul: no singing a song when another song is playing. Double music social foul: don't ever fucking sing anything while Pink Floyd is playing. What's wrong with you?

If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding! How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat!

When we pulled in, the customs officer looked in the back. The back of the wagon was filled with cases stenciled PINK FLOYD--LONDON. 'Got Pink Floyd in the back of the car, do you?' he asked. 'Righto, mate. We shrunk 'em and stuck 'em in fookin' boxes, we did,' said Nigel. Amazingly, the customs officer laughed and waved us through.

And all you touch and all you see, Is all your life will ever be.

Hello hello hello is anybody out there? does anybody hear me? Is anyone at home? - Pink Floyd, The Wall

Dude: What do Pink Floyd and Dale Earnhardt have in common? Me: The wall was their last hit.

I'm an atheist, and I don't have any belief in an afterlife. You could say that I'm resigned to the fact that this wonderful life that we get here is it. And having hit 60, it's a good time to get resigned to these things and not be too nervous or upset - and enjoy what great times one can have.

Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn? Remember how she said that We would meet again Some sunny day? Vera! Vera! What has become of you? Does anybody else here Feel the way I do

I've always been mad, I know I've been mad, like the most of us...very hard to explain why you're mad, even if you're not mad...

A brick could be used to say hi to Pink Floyd.


Hey you ! out there in the cold Getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me Hey you ! Standing in the aisles With itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me Hey you ! don't help them to bury the light Don't give in without a fight. Hey you ! out there on your own sitting naked by the phone would you touch me Hey you ! with your ear against the wall Waiting for someone to call out would you touch me Hey you ! would you help me to carry the stone Open your heart, I'm coming home But it was only a fantasy The wall was too high as you can see No matter how he tried he could not break free And the worms ate into his brain. Hey you ! out there on the road Always doing what you're told, can you help me Hey you ! out there beyond the wall Breaking bottles in the hall, can you help me Hey you ! don't tell me there's no hope at all Together we stand, divided we fall.

[Roger] Waters has suggested that empathy is the central theme of all the band[Pink Floyd]'s classic, mature works beginning with [the album] Meddle. Waters singles out the following lines from "Echoes": Strangers passing in the street / By chance two seperate glances meet / And I am you and what I see is me.

Have You Got It Yet?

All middle men are bad.

Long you live and high you'll fly, and smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry, and all you touch and all you see, is all your life will ever be. ~ Pink Floyd

My Dream Date. Putting Pink Floyd on loop in at least a 5-CD rotation or on spotify or something, getting real high on hash while naked, making love on and off for hours, lying on the bed eating cheesy crackers and sipping a quality beer like Tetley's, Guinness or Pilsner Urquell. Repeat as needed.

Wish You Were Here" So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain. Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage? How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year, Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

No dark sarcasm, in the classroom.

Syd always gets in there.

Her sister Lea had an ancient book of myths and legends, and there was all kinds of info in there - of course Lea had written that book herself, so how much could it be counted on for accuracy? For instance, under the heading of "Gods and Demigods,” you could find entries for The Beatles, Pink Floyd, and Led Zeppelin. She'd also added a new "tribe" consisting of her favorite cartoon characters, naming them The Animatus.

Mother do you think they'll drop the bomb? Mother do you think they'll like this song? Mother do you think they'll try to break my balls? Mother should I build the wall? Mother should I run for president? Mother should I trust the government? Mother will they put me in the firing line? Mother am I really dying? Hush now baby, baby, dont you cry. Mother's gonna make all your nightmares come true. Mother's gonna put all her fears into you. Mother's gonna keep you right here under her wing. She wont let you fly, but she might let you sing. Mama will keep baby cozy and warm. Ooooh baby ooooh baby oooooh baby, Of course mama'll help to build the wall. Mother do you think she's good enough -- to me? Mother do you think she's dangerous -- to me? Mother will she tear your little boy apart? Mother will she break my heart? Hush now baby, baby dont you cry. Mama's gonna check out all your girlfriends for you. Mama wont let anyone dirty get through. Mama's gonna wait up until you get in. Mama will always find out where you've been. Mama's gonna keep baby healthy and clean. Ooooh baby oooh baby oooh baby, You'll always be baby to me. Mother, did it need to be so high?

Epic is a word we often hear overused these days. Epic is Echoes or the guitar solo in Comfortably Numb. THAT is "Epic.

There is no dark side in the moon, really. Matter of facr it's all dark.

Arnold Layne, Don't do it again!

Supposedly the Thames dragon wrote most of Pink Floyd’s stuff. At least after Syd Barrett left. But there’s no way to prove it.

The memories of a man in his old age Are the deeds of a man in his prime. —Roger Waters, Pink Floyd, “Free Four

... and then one day you find ten years have got behind you, no one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun’ — Pink Floyd, ‘Time’, Dark Side of the Moon

As Carl Jung put it, “In each of us there is another whom we do not know.” As Pink Floyd put it, “There’s someone in my head, but it’s not me.” *

Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon. Classic, but not as good as Wish You Were Here.

Pink Floyd.

there are only so many times you can listen to the guitar solo in Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” without going a little numb yourself,

Lots of people say they’ve talked to dragons, but it’s very hard to verify. Supposedly the Thames dragon wrote most of Pink Floyd’s stuff. At least after

My parents used to play music when we had gone to bed, especially on Friday and Saturday evenings. Often it was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep. Every now and again he played records when he was alone in his study. Steinar had told me once that he had brought a Pink Floyd LP into the classroom and played it. He had said this with awe in his voice.

Pink Floyd in The 60s. Piper at The Gates of Dawn (1967) Singles and B-sides, outtakes A Saucerful of Secrets More Ummagumma Zabriskie Point (recorded Dec. 69) Pretty damned impressive!

I've heard a tape of collected kakapo noises, and it's almost impossible to believe that it all just comes from a bird, or indeed any kind of animal. Pink Floyd studio out-takes perhaps, but not a parrot.

1 The summer our marriage failed we picked sage to sweeten our hot dark car. We sat in the yard with heavy glasses of iced tea, talking about which seeds to sow when the soil was cool. Praising our large, smooth spinach leaves, free this year of Fusarium wilt, downy mildew, blue mold. And then we spoke of flowers, and there was a joke, you said, about old florists who were forced to make other arrangements. Delphiniums flared along the back fence. All summer it hurt to look at you. 2 I heard a woman on the bus say, “He and I were going in different directions.” As if it had something to do with a latitude or a pole. Trying to write down how love empties itself from a house, how a view changes, how the sign for infinity turns into a noose for a couple. Trying to say that weather weighed down all the streets we traveled on, that if gravel sinks, it keeps sinking. How can I blame you who kneeled day after day in wet soil, pulling slugs from the seedlings? You who built a ten-foot arch for the beans, who hated a bird feeder left unfilled. You who gave carrots to a gang of girls on bicycles. 3 On our last trip we drove through rain to a town lit with vacancies. We’d come to watch whales. At the dock we met five other couples—all of us fluorescent, waterproof, ready for the pitch and frequency of the motor that would lure these great mammals near. The boat chugged forward—trailing a long, creamy wake. The captain spoke from a loudspeaker: In winter gray whales love Laguna Guerrero; it’s warm and calm, no killer whales gulp down their calves. Today we’ll see them on their way to Alaska. If we get close enough, observe their eyes—they’re bigger than baseballs, but can only look down. Whales can communicate at a distance of 300 miles—but it’s my guess they’re all saying, Can you hear me? His laughter crackled. When he told us Pink Floyd is slang for a whale’s two-foot penis, I stopped listening. The boat rocked, and for two hours our eyes were lost in the waves—but no whales surfaced, blowing or breaching or expelling water through baleen plates. Again and again you patiently wiped the spray from your glasses. We smiled to each other, good troopers used to disappointment. On the way back you pointed at cormorants riding the waves— you knew them by name: the Brants, the Pelagic, the double-breasted. I only said, I’m sure whales were swimming under us by the dozens. 4 Trying to write that I loved the work of an argument, the exhaustion of forgiving, the next morning, washing our handprints off the wineglasses. How I loved sitting with our friends under the plum trees, in the white wire chairs, at the glass table. How you stood by the grill, delicately broiling the fish. How the dill grew tall by the window. Trying to explain how camellias spoil and bloom at the same time, how their perfume makes lovers ache. Trying to describe the ways sex darkens and dies, how two bodies can lie together, entwined, out of habit. Finding themselves later, tired, by a fire, on an old couch that no longer reassures. The night we eloped we drove to the rainforest and found ourselves in fog so thick our lights were useless. There’s no choice, you said, we must have faith in our blindness. How I believed you. Trying to imagine the road beneath us, we inched forward, honking, gently, again and again.

There’s a bit in “Echoes” we call “the wind section” where it all falls apart, and then comes back in,’ explains Guy Pratt. ‘Some of the younger players, mentioning no names, couldn’t get their heads around it not being a set number of bars. It was like, “You have to feel it and know instinctively when to come back in.” David’s great line about that was, “The trouble with modern musicians is that they don’t know how to disintegrate.

And I am not frightened of dying Any time will do, I don't mind Why should I be frightened of dying? There's no reason for it, you've gotta go sometime If you can hear this whispering you are dying "The Great Gig in the Sky

Speaking of music, we will arrive with our own. We plan on delivering our baby to the soundtrack of Pink Floyd’s The Wall while simultaneously watching The Wizard of Oz. If this kid works with us, we guarantee your minds will be blown!

Part of him believes he’s still on that trip, that everything since has been one giant hallucination, and that one day he’ll snap out of it and find himself back on his couch in St. Louis, listening to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.

The trouble is I don’t like the pop music which it’s all right to like. You can have a bit of Pink Floyd shoved in between your symphonies and your Dame Janet Baker — that shows a refreshing breadth of taste or at least a refreshing candour.

A great philosopher once said: 'We are what we Contemplate' And in these modern times when mankind is constantly confronted with images of conflict and world disasters, it seems very important to contemplate the Beautiful. It has become my personal crusade as an artist, to create images which uplift and nurture the human heart; to create that which serves as a reminder of what is Sacred and Beautiful within the drama of Life.... Ever since I can remember, my innermost nature has always been to do acts of kindness and to create, from saving lost animals, to organizing charitable events; from mothering my four children to now giving birth to the 'Art of Beauty'.

Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young In a world of magnets and miracles Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary The ringing of the division bell had begun Along the Long Road and on down the Causeway Do they still meet there by the Cut There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps Running before times took our dreams away Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground To a life consumed by slow decay The grass was greener The light was brighter When friends surrounded The nights of wonder Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again Dragged by the force of some sleeping tide At a higher altitude with flag unfurled We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world Encumbered forever by desire and ambition There's a hunger still unsatisfied Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon Though down this road we've been so many times The grass was greener The light was brighter The taste was sweeter The nights of wonder With friends surrounded The dawn mist glowing The water flowing The endless river Forever and ever

دیریست شعله های فرو میمرند ، اما درد باقی مانده است .

I need some Ummagumma.

What have we here, laddie? Mysterious scribblings? A secret code? Oh, poems, no less! Poems, everybody!

...and what exactly is a joke....

all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be

I feel the same way about disco as I do about herpes.” Hunter S. Thompson

Many fine keyboard players could and did emulate and recreate his parts, but nobody else other than Rick had the ability to create them in the first place.

The Reverend Elmer Gantry was reading an illustrated pink periodical devoted to prize fighters and chorus girls in his room at Elizabeth J. Schmutz Hall late of an afternoon when two large men walked in without knocking. "Why, good evening, Brother Bains—Brother Naylor! This is a pleasant surprise. I was, uh— Did you ever see this horrible rag? About actoresses. An invention of the devil himself. I was thinking of denouncing it next Sunday. I hope you never read it—won't you sit down, gentlemen?—take this chair— I hope you never read it, Brother Floyd, because the footsteps of—

Who was born in a house full of pain. Who was trained not to spit in the fan. Who was told what to do by the man. Who was broken by trained personnel. Who was fitted with collar and chain. Who was given a pat on the back. Who was breaking away from the pack. Who was only a stranger at home. Who was ground down in the end. Who was found dead on the phone. Who was dragged down by the stone. [song "Dogs", finale...]

David, on the other hand, may not be so initially alarming, but once decided on a course of action is hard to sway. When his immovable object met Roger’s irresistible force, difficulties were guaranteed to follow.

In the end it comes down to two rival versions of the English middle afternoon. Post-Barrett, Pink Floyd kept on in a middle-afternoonish vein, but they fell in love with the idea of portentous storm clouds in the offing somewhere over Grantchester....Barrett's afternoonishness was far more supple and engaging. It superimposed the hippie cult of eternal solstice on the pre-teatime daydreams of one's childhood, occasioned by a slick of sunlight on a chest of drawers....His afternoonishness is lit by an importunate adult intelligence that can't quite get back to the place it longs to be....Barrett created the same precocious longing in adolescents. "I remember 'See Emily Play' drifting across a school corridor in 1967...and I remember the powerful wish to stay suspended indefinitely in that music...I also remember the quasi-adult intimation that this wasn't possible. [from the London Review of Books for January 2, 2003]

I watch the figure reach the peak Head in clouds, no room to think He gave the world a blissful wink Took a drink, destroyed the peace We watched the ships explode then sink On cardboard screens, the blood-shed pink. This is the way we choose to run things.

So, Joanie came over with some ice bubble hash--not sure what that means, but it's good--and I freaked her out with some Pink Floyd. She didn't know the early stuff so much. We went out into the garden with a fairly big-screen laptop, it was warmish, and after we were high and drinking a few beers, I played for her these videos, in this order: Jugband Blues Astronomy Domine (2x, once with Syd, once with Dave) Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun One of These Days A Saucerful of Secrets Echoes Comfortably Numb She passed out on the settee and I threw a cover over her. lol

Когато двамата с Линди решихме да се преместим от Камдън в Хайгейт, отидох при банковия си мениджър, за да поискам краткосрочен заем. Той ме попита какво мога да предложа като гаранция. Казах му : „Ами имам албум номер едно в Америка”. Той не остана особено впечатлен и каза, че му трябва нещо по-конкретно...

Those who liked the pages of Democratic candidates had markedly different musical tastes from those who liked the pages of Republican candidates. Some of the differences can be explained by race and region. African American musicians, such as Michael Jackson, Mary J. Blige, Alicia Keys, and Beyoncé, are favorites of Democrats but not Republicans. The fans of noted Jamaican pacifist stoner Bob Marley lean particularly strongly to the left. But Democrats are attracted to more than just performers of color. Acts as diverse as Lady Gaga, Adele, Pink Floyd, and the Beatles are also especially popular in more-liberal precincts.

По мое мнение няма една-единствена причина, а няколко фактора, които действаха заедно и увеличаваха ефекта . Първопричината – която важи за всеки велик албум – е силата на песните. „Dark Side” съдържа силни песни с мощно внушение. Общата идея, която свързва тези песни – напрежението на съвременния живот – намери универсален отклик и продължава да пленява въображението. Текстовете имаха дълбочина и резонанс, към който хората лесно можеха да се съотнесат, бяха достатъчно ясни и прости, за да ги разбират тези, за които английският не е майчин език и това може и да е било фактор за международния успех на албума. А качеството на музиката, придадено от китарата и гласа на Дейвид и клавира на Рик утвърди фундаменталния звук на „Пинк Флойд”.

Беше фантастично да свиря отново с останалите – Рик наслояваше уникалните си текстури, Дейвид беше надежден както винаги, перфектно точен и лиричен, а Роджър редеше онези познати басови мотиви и съкровени текстове, докато езикът на тялото му подсказваше, че той се наслаждава истински. Цялото изпълнение беше стегнато и овладяно, и ние успяхме да потушим превъзбудата си от важността на събитието, като за щастие се възпряхме да не извикаме „Здравей, Лондон!” Но премерените думи на Роджър преди „Wish You Were Here”, в които той спомена Сид, осигуриха достатъчно смислен контакт с публиката. След финалния поклон се отправихме зад сцената, където избликнаха много неприкрити емоции, свързани с шоуто, но се радвам да доложа, че тъй като сме истински войници, и четиримата демонстрирахме типичния си непроницаем стоицизъм, изключващ навлажнените очи – част от традицията на „Пинк Флойд”...

It's weird not being in our subculture of two any more. There was Jen's culture, her little habits and ways of doing things; the collection of stuff she'd already learnt she loved before we met me. Chorizo and Jonathan Franken and long walks and the Eagles (her dad). Seeing the Christmas lights. Taylor Swift, frying pans in the dishwasher, the works absolutely, arsewipe, heaven. Tracy Chapman and prawn jalfrezi and Muriel Spark and HP sauce in bacon sandwiches. And then there was my culture. Steve Martin and Aston Villa and New York and E.T. Chicken bhuna, strange-looking cats and always having squash or cans of soft drinks in the house. The Cure. Pink Floyd. Kanye West, friend eggs, ten hours' sleep, ketchup in bacon sandwiches. Never missing dental check-ups. Sister Sledge (my mum). Watching TV even if the weather is nice. Cadbury's Caramel. John and Paul and George and Ringo. And then we met and fell in love and we introduced each other to all of it, like children showing each other their favourite toys. The instinct never goes - look at my fire engine, look at my vinyl collection. Look at all these things I've chosen to represent who I am. It was fun to find out about each other's self-made cultures and make our own hybrid in the years of eating, watching, reading, listening, sleeping and living together. Our culture was tea drink from very large mugs. And looking forward to the Glastonbury ticket day and the new season of Game of Thrones and taking the piss out of ourselves for being just like everyone else. Our culture was over-tipping in restaurants because we both used to work in the service industry, salty popcorn at the cinema and afternoon naps. Side-by-side morning sex. Home-made Manhattans. Barmade Manhattans (much better). Otis Redding's "Cigarettes and Coffee" (our song). Discovering a new song we both loved and listening to it over and over again until we couldn't listen to it any more. Period dramas on a Sunday night. That one perfect vibrator that finished her off in seconds when we were in a rush. Gravy. David Hockney. Truffle crisps. Can you believe it? I still can't believe it. A smell indisputably reminiscent of bums. On a crisp. And yet we couldn't get enough of them together - stuffing them in our gobs, her hand on my chest, me trying not to get crumbs in her hair as we watched Sense and Sensibility (1995). But I'm not a member of that club anymore. No one is. It's been disbanded, dissolved, the domain is no longer valid. So what do I do with all its stuff? Where so I put it all? Where do I take all my new discoveries now I'm no longer a tribe of two? And if I start a new sub-genre of love with someone else, am I allowed to bring in all the things I loved from the last one? Or would that be weird? Why do I find this so hard?

On Halloween, Wendell, Floyd, and Mona were walking home from school when a black cat crossed their path. “Don’t pet it, Floyd!” cried Wendell. “Don’t you know that black cats are bad luck?” “That’s just an old wives’ tale,” Mona said. “Besides, what could happen?” Wendell merely shook his head. “Anything can happen on Halloween.” In fact, something did happen as soon as they got home. First, Wendell discovered that his mad scientist costume had turned pink in the wash. This is definitely a bad sign, he thought. Then Floyd found out that he had to take his sister, Alice, trick-or-treating with him. “Pirates don’t have little sisters,” he complained. Worst of all, Mona’s mother insisted that she go out dressed as a fairy princess. “I look ridiculous,” Mona protested. “Nonsense,” said her mother, and handed her a magic wand. They all felt gloomy that evening as they set out trick-or-treating and hoped that no one they knew would see them.

Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun Little by little the night turns around. Counting the leaves which tremble at dawn Lotuses lean on each other in yearning Under the eaves the swallow is resting Set the controls for the heart of the sun. Over the mountain watching the watcher. Breaking the darkness, waking the grapevine. One inch of love is one inch of shadow Love is the shadow that ripens the wine. Set the controls for the heart of the sun. The heart of the sun, the heart of the sun. Witness the man who raves at the wall Making the shape of his questions to Heaven Whether the sun will fall in the evening Will he remember the lesson of giving? Set the controls for the heart of the sun. The heart of the sun, the heart of the sun.

Въпреки че притежавахме забележителната способност да се вбесяваме и тревожим взаимно с абсолютно безизразни физиономии, ние никога не развихме умението да разговаряме помежду си за важните въпроси. След „The Dark Side of the Moon” се наблюдаваше отявлената тенденция да се критикуваме жестоко един друг и да приемаме критиките още по-зле. Мнозина смятат, че Роджър се наслаждава на конфронтацията, но аз не мисля, че случаят е такъв. Според мен Роджър често не осъзнава колко много притеснява хората и веднъж, щом сметне, че конфронтацията е необходима, е толкова непреклонно решен да победи, че влага всичко от себе си в свадата , а неговото „всичко” може да бъде доста плашещо. Ако погледнем на нещата от добрата им страна, това е огромно преимущество, когато играе голф, тенис или покер... Дейвид от друга страна може и да не е толкова заплашителен на пръв поглед, но щом веднъж реши какъв курс на действие да предприеме, трудно може да бъде отклонен. Когато неговата неподвижна устойчивост се срещна с всепомитащата енергия на Роджър, стана очевидно, че предстояха проблеми. Защо бяхме готови да се примирим с това, което приличаше на преврат от страна на Роджър? Приемахме много неща като неизбежни, а сега, когато се обърна назад, това ми се струва безсмислено. Подобно малодушно примирение може да е било резултат от постепенните промени в структурата на групата през изминалото десетилетие. Може би, недостатъчно уверен в способностите си на композитор, Дейвид е смятал, че ако се противопоставим на тези промени, рискуваме за загубим Роджър и да се окажем неспособни да продължим напред. Или след напускането на Рик може би сме се страхували да не бъдем маргинализирани и в последствие изхвърлени един по един. Боли ме да го призная, но каквито и да бяха причините, тенденцията Роджър да бъде сочен с пръст като злодея, ако и да е съблазнителна, вероятно не е справедлива.