This pointless word game that was inspired by my good friend tuned after this final installment of Floyd's double trigger. Of course it is possible to find very pale these scattered fragments, emerged from old boxes of 94, of a little mascara enhanced instrumental here and there, and even bringing out a few words of this song sweet magma. All this of course na neither head nor tail and can not appear in these conditions, otherwise quun ersatz. Taken in its Anglo-Saxon sense, this is also the way dexprimer sweet annihilation toward which everything is condemned to spin in this sublunary world. Forgot Syd Barrett, Roger Waters fled, Rick Wright gone, what is there left? These reminiscences somewhat evaporated fragrance, which immerse you in nostalgia at the same time which sometimes make you shudder at the memory of ecstatic hours of yore. So never mind, gracefully climb in this frail and illusory boat and abandon us lineffable pitch, born of the sea of clouds ... undefined
