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You say the hill's too steep to climb Climb it. You say you'd like to see me try Climbing.
You pick the place and I'll choose the time And I'll climb That hill in my own way. Just wait a while for the right day. And as I rise above the tree lines and the clouds I look down, hearing the sound of the things you've said today.
Fearlessly the idiot faced the crowd Smiling. Merciless the magistrate turns 'round Frowning.
And who's the fool who wears the crown? And go down, in your own way And every day is the right day And as you rise above the fear-lines in his brow You look down, hearing the sound of the faces in the crowd.
Good Pink Floyd Mornin' Pub!
-------------------- Acid doesn't give you truths; it builds machines that push the envelope of perception. Whatever revelations came to me then have dissolved like skywriting. All I really know is that those few years saddled me with a faith in the redemptive potential of the imagination which, however flat, stale and unprofitable the world seems to me now, I cannot for the life of me shake.
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