There is a hill here. You can see all the lights in the world from the top of it. And more. Distinct. As if underlining their existance. Their loneliness. Their...darkness.
And a lake. And all the lights multiply in it.
The smoke from the industry chimneys stains the dark dark sky. Floyd sounds even better here. Sometimes I wonder if I am talking to nobody in particular. Just the smoke, maybe. And the smoke doesn't give me answers too.
As if I am alone in this. What is the use of sitting on top of the world if there is no one to look down and wave?
Maybe I am just a nice guy.
When it rains, it smells like home...