Pink Floyd Works

The lunatic is on the grass.
The lunatic is on the grass.
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs.
Got to keep the loonies on the path.

The lunatic is in the hall.
The lunatics are in my hall.
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more.

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

The lunatic is in my head.
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'til i'm sane.
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

"i can't think of anything to say except...
I think it's marvelous! hahaha!"

Arnold layne had a strange hobby
Collecting clothes
Moonshine washing line
They suit him fine
On the wall hung a tall mirror
Distorted view, see through baby blue
Oh, arnold layne
It's not the same, takes two to know
Two to know, two to know
Why can't you see?
Arnold layne, arnold layne, arnold layne, arnold layne

Now he's caught - a nasty sort of person
They gave him time
Doors bang - chain gang - he hates it
Oh, arnold layne
It's not the same, takes two to know
Two to know, two to know
Why can't you see?
Arnold layne, arnold layne, arnold layne, arnold layne

Don't do it again

The memories of a man in his old age
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
You shuffle in gloom of the sickroom
And talk to yourself as you die.

Life is a short, warm moment
And death is a long cold rest.
You get your chance to try in the twinkling of an eye:
Eighty years, with luck, or even less.

So all aboard for the american tour,
And maybe you'll make it to the top.
And mind how you go, and i can tell you, 'cause i know
You may find it hard to get off.

You are the angel of death
And i am the dead man's son.
And he was buried like a mole in a fox hole.
And everyone is still in the run.

And who is the master of fox hounds?
And who says the hunt has begun?
And who calls the tune in the courtroom?
And who beats the funeral drum?

The memories of a man in his old age
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
You shuffle in gloom in the sickroom
And talk to yourself till you die.

All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy,
Beg, borrow or steal.
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say.
All that you eat
And everyone you meet
All that you slight
And everyone you fight.
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

"there is no dark side of the moon really. matter of fact it's all dark."

Aye an' a bit of mackeral settler rack and ruin
Ran it doon by the haim, 'ma place
Well i slapped me and i slapped it doon in the side
And i cried, cried, cried.

The fear a fallen down taken never back the raize and then craig marion,
Get out wi' ye claymore out mi pocket a' ran doon, doon the middin stain
Picking the fiery horde that was fallen around ma feet.
Never he cried, never shall it ye get me alive
Ye rotten hound of the burnie crew. well i snatched fer the blade o my
Claymore cut and thrust and i fell doon before him round his feet.

Aye! a roar he cried frae the bottom of his heart that i would nay fall
But as dead, dead as 'a can be by his feet; de ya ken?

...and the wind cried back.

[in english] thank you.