Pink Floyd
Meddle

A lively sketch of scents enlivens the bucolic British stage.
The sun returns to its dwelling to rest and come back to work the following day.

Who are you? Where am I? What do you want from me?

Forgive me. Forgive me, mother, for not being able to choose. I wanted to be what you wanted for me, but it didn't turn out that way.
So?

You choose the place, and I the time.

The memory of an old aunt soothes the mind, the warmth of her chest warms our backs curved under the weight of dreams.

You say the hill is too steep to climb, climb it.

We feast on the profits of our carefree serenities in a synergy of contrasting feelings.

And every day is the right day.

Perhaps it's wrong to think of wanting to change the world. Maybe it's better to lay on our concrete certainties, waiting for the wind to cool our worried faces.
A sleepy moment, when I lie next to my love and she breathes softly, and I awaken like a bird in the mist when the first rays touch the sky and the night breezes die.

Who are you? Where am I? What do you want from me?
The landscape changes. The countryside swiftly dissolves into a suburban context. I see it there in the distance. It has very marked features. Marked like the emotions that battle within the apparent warmth of its soul.
It looks at me.

The howl of a dog.

I am transported again to the countryside. In the pastures where the meats that feed us are raised.
A drop of cold water falls on the mirror.
Another.
The mist doesn't delay in concealing even the trivial visual appearances on which we base our existence.
Suddenly, the man with the marked features escapes from his dimension; becomes a deeper, undefined silhouette. That man becomes a note. A sequence of notes. Low, deep, warm notes. The notes of an electric bass.
In a nearby pond, water birds create ripples in the water, ripples insignificant to us but hiding the meaning of our existence. Above, the albatross is motionless suspended in the air, and down in the depths of the waves in labyrinths of coral caves, the echo of a distant time comes trembling through the sands, and everything is green and underwater. That was the moment. At that instant, I realized that despite this world boasting billions of inhabitants, in reality, each one of us is alone. And this solitude is nothing more than the constant search to synergistically combine with another like us. Solitude is the search for a way out of solitude.
And no one sings me lullabies, and no one makes me close my eyes, so I open the windows wide and swim to you across the sky.