Pink Floyd. Delicate Sound of Thunder. Sorrow. Zeneszám

The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land
plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky:
a man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers
but awakes to a morning with no reason for waking

He's haunted by the memory of a lost paradise
in his youth or a dream, he can't be precise
he's chained forever to a world that's departed
It's not enough, It's not enough

His blood has frozen & curled with fright
his knees have trembled & given way in the night
his hand has weakened at the moment of truth
his step has faltered

One world, one soul
Time pass, the river roll

And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication
and silent replies that swirl invitation
flow dark and troubled to any oily sea
a grim intimation of what is to be

There's an unceasing wind that blows through this night
and there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight
and silence that speaks so much louder than words
of promises broken.