THE POST WAR DREAM (Roger Waters)

« …announced plans to build a nuclear fallout shelter at Peterborough in Cambridgeshire… »

«  … three high court judges have cleared the way … »

« … It was announced today that the replacement for the Atlantic Conveyor, the container ship lost in the Falklands conflict would be built in Japan. A spokesman for … »

« … moving in. They say the third world countries, like Bolivia, which produce the drug are suffering from rising violence … »


Tell me true, tell me why, was Jesus crucified?

Was it for this that Daddy died?

Was it for you? Was it me?

Did I watch too much T.V.?

Is that a hint of accusation in your eyes?

If it wasn’t for the Nips

Being so good at building ships

The yards would still be open on the Clyde

And it can’t be much fun for them

Beneath the rising sun

With all their kids committing suicide

What have we done, Maggie what have we done?

What have we done to England?


Should we shout, should we scream

“What happened to the post war dream?”

Oh Maggie, Maggie what did we do?

YOUR POSSIBLE PASTS (Roger Waters)

They flutter behind you your possible pasts

Some bright-eyed and crazy, some frightened and lost

A warning to anyone still in command

Of their possible future, to take care

In derelict sidings the poppies entwine

With cattle trucks lying in wait for the next time


Do you remember me? How we used to be?

Do you think we should be closer?

She stood in the doorway, the ghost of a smile

Haunting her face like a cheap hotel sign

Her cold eyes imploring the men in their MACs

For the gold in their bags or the knives in their backs

Stepping up boldly one put out his hand

He said, “I was just a child then, now I’m only a man.”


Do you remember me? How we used to be?

Do you think we should be closer?

By the cold and religious we were taken in hand

Shown how to feel good and told to feel bad

(Tongue tied and terrified we learned how to pray

Now our feelings run deep and cold as the clay)

Strung out behind us the banners and flags

Of our possible pasts lie in tatters and rags


Do you remember me? How we used to be?

Do you think we should be closer?

ONE OF THE FEW (Roger Waters)

When you’re one of the few to land on your feet

What do you do to make ends meet? 

« teach »

Make 'em mad, make 'em sad, make 'em add two and two

Or make 'em me, or make 'em you, make 'em do what you want them to

Make 'em laugh, make 'em cry, make 'em lie down and die

THE HERO’S RETURN (Roger Waters)

Jesus, Jesus, what’s it all about?

Trying to clout these little ingrates into shape

When I was their age all the lights went out

There was no time to whine or mope about

And even now part of me flies over

Dresden at angels one five

Though they’ll never fathom it behind my

Sarcasm desperate memories lie

Sweetheart sweetheart are you fast asleep? Good

‘Cause that’s the only time that I can really speak to you

And there is something that I’ve locked away

A memory that is too painful

To withstand the light of day

When we came back from the war

The banners and flags hung on everyone’s door

We danced and we sang in the street and

The church bells rang

But the burning in my heart

The memory smolders on

Of the gunners dying words on the intercom

THE GUNNER’S DREAM (Roger Waters)

Floating down, through the clouds

Memories come rushing up to meet me now

But in the space between the heavens

And in the corner of some foreign field

I had a dream

I had a dream

Good-bye Max

Good-bye Ma

After the service, when you’re walking slowly to the car

And the silver in her hair shines in the cold November air

You hear the tolling bell

And touch the silk in your lapel

And as the tear drops rise to meet the comfort of the band

You take her frail hand

And hold on to the dream!

A place to stay

« Oh! A real one … »

Enough to eat

Somewhere old heroes shuffle safely down the street

Where you can speak out loud

About your doubts and fears

And what’s more no-one ever disappears

You never hear their standard issue kicking in your door

You can relax on both sides of the tracks

And maniacs don’t blow holes in bandsmen 

by remote control

And everyone has recourse to the law

And no one kills the children anymore

And no one kills the children anymore

Night after night

Going round and round my brain

His dream is driving me insane

In the corner of some foreign field

The gunner sleeps tonight

What’s done is done

We cannot just write off his final scene

Take heed of the dream

Take heed

PARANOID EYES (Roger Waters)

Button your lip andon’t let the shield slip

Take a fresh grip on your bullet proof mask

And if they try to break down your disguise with their questions

You can hide, hide, hide

Behind paranoid eyes

You put on our brave face and slip over the road for a jar

Fixing your grin as you casually lean on the bar

Laughing too loud at the rest of the world

With the boys in the crowd

You can hide, hide, hide

« I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you three blacks, and play you for five »

Behind petrified eyes

« Ta! You was unlucky there son »

You believed in their stories of fame, fortune and glory

Now you’re lost in a haze of alcohol soft middle age

The pie in the sky turned out to be miles too high

And you hide, hide, hide

« Time gentleman! »

Behind brown and mild eyes

« Oi! »

GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY DESERT (Roger Waters)

« Hoi, Get your filthy hands off my desert ! What he say? »


Brezhnev took Afghanistan

Begin took Beirut

Galtieri took the Union Jack

And Maggie, over lunch one day

Took a cruiser with all hands

Apparently, to make him give it back

THE FLETCHER MEMORIAL HOME (Roger Waters)

Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere

And build them a home, a little place of their own

The Fletcher Memorial Home

For Incurable Tyrants and Kings


And they can appear to themselves every day

On closed circuit T.V

To make sure they’re still real

It’s the only connection they feel

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig

Mr. Begin and friend, Mrs. Thatcher, and Paisley

« Hello Maggie! »

Mr. Brezhnev and party

« Scusi dov’è il bar? »

The ghost of McCarthy,

The memories of Nixon.

« Who’s the bald chap? Goodbye! »

And now, adding colour

A group of anonymous Latin-American meat packing glitterati

Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?

They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles,

And amuse themselves playing games for awhile

Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you’re dead


Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye

With their favourite toys

They’ll be good girls and boys

In the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial

Wasters of life and limb

Is everyone in?

Are you having a nice time?

Now the final solution can be applied

SOUTHAMPTON DOCK (Roger Waters)

They disembarked in 45 and no-one spoke and no-one smiled

There were too many spaces in the line gathered at the cenotaph

All agreed with the hand on heart to sheath the sacrificial Knifes


But now:

She stands upon Southampton dock

With her handkerchief and her summer frock clings

To her wet body in the rain

In quiet desperation knuckles white upon the slippery reins

She bravely waves the boys goodbye again

And still the dark stain spreads between

Their shoulder blades

A mute reminder of the poppy fields and graves

And when the fight was over

We spent what they had made, but

In the bottom of our hearts we felt the final cut

THE FINAL CUT (Roger Waters)

Through the fish-eyed lens of tear stained eyes

I can barely define the shape of this moment in time

And far from flying high in clear blue skies

I’m spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide

If you negotiate the minefield in the drive

And beat the dogs and cheat the cold electronic eyes

And if you make it past the shotguns in the hall

Dial the combination, open the priesthole

And if I’m in I’ll tell you … what’s behind the wall*

There’s a kid who had a big hallucination

Making love to girls in magazines

He wonders if you’re sleeping with your new found 

faith

Could anybody love him

Or is it just a crazy dream?


And if I show you my dark side

Will you still hold me tonight?

And if I open my heart to you

And show you my weak side

What would you do?

Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone?

Would you take the children away

And leave me alone?

And smile in reassurance

As you whisper down the phone?

Would you send me packing?

Or would you take me home?


Thought I oughta bare my naked feelings

Thought I oughta tear the curtain down

I held the blade in trembling hands

Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang

I never had the nerve to make the final cut


« Hello? Listen, I think I’ve got it. Okay, listen its a- Hahahaha! »

* The last stance is burried under the mix and almost unlistenable

NOT NOW JOHN (Roger Waters)

Fuck all that, we've got to get on with these

Got to compete with the wily Japanese

There’s too many home fires burning and not enough trees

So fuck all that, we've gotta get on with these


Can’t stop, lose job

Mind gone, silicon

Tsar bomb, what bomb?

Get away, pay day

Make hay, break down

Need fix, big six

Click, click

Hold on, oh no

Bingo!


Make them laugh, make them cry

Make them dance in the aisles

Make them pay, make them stay

Make them feel okay

Not now John, we've got to get on with the film show

Hollywood waits at the end of the rainbow

Who cares what it’s about as long as the kids go

So, not now John, we've gotta get on with the show


Hang on John I've got to get on with this

I don’t know what it is, but it fits on here like …

Come at the end of the shift, we’ll go and get pissed

But now now John, I've gotta get on with this


Hold on John, I think there’s something good on

I used to read books but...

It could be the news, or some other amusement

Could be reusable shows


Fuck all that, we've gotta get on with these

Got to compete with the wily Japanese

No need to worry about the Vietnamese

Got to bring the Russian Bear to his knees

Well, maybe not the Russian Bear, maybe the Swedes

We showed Argentina, now let’s go and show these

Make us feel tough and wouldn't Maggie be pleased?

Na, na, na, na, na, na, na

One, two, Free Four!


Scusi dov'è il bar? « What ? »

Se para collo pou eine toe bar?

S’il vous plait où est le bar? « Say it in English! »

Oi, where’s the fucking bar John? « Oh, now you’re talking! »

« Oh! Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the day »

Down! Go, Maggie!

Hammer, Hammer, Hammer, Hammer, now!

TWO SUNS IN THE SUNSET (Roger Waters)

In my rear view mirror the sun is going down

Sinking behind bridges in the road

And I think of all the good things

That we have left undone

And I suffer premonitions, confirm suspicions

Of the holocaust to come


The rusty wire that holds the cork that keeps the anger in

Gives way and suddenly it’s day again

The sun is in the east

Even though the day is done

Two suns in the sunset, hmph

Could be the human race is run

Like the moment when the brakes lock

And you slide towards the big truck (“Oh no!”)

You stretch the frozen moments with your fear [scream]

And you’ll never hear their voices ("Daddy, Daddy!")

And you’ll never see their faces

You have no recourse to the law anymore


And as the windshield melts and my tears evaporate

Leaving only charcoal to defend

Finally I understand

The feelings of the few

Ashes and diamonds, foe and friend

We were all equal in the end


« … and now the weather. Tomorrow will be cloudy with scattered showers spreading from the east … With an expected high of 4000 degrees Celsius »

RarePinkFloyd • Design by RmF • December 2018