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В пятницу умер Сид Баретт... больше нету слов



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.