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Víte, že jméno Davida Gilmoura dělá problémy nejen nám Čechům? Na některých vydáních CD Final Cut je např. zkomolen jako Glimour, jinde zase Gilmore (např. credits ve filmu More). Víte, že na záznamu vystoupení Pink Floyd na Live 8 v roce 2005 se dvakrát v záběru do obecenstva objeví Davidova žena Polly Samson a jejich dva synové? Víte, že při turné The Wall bylo na pódiovou show použito přesně 420 cihel (lepenkových krabic)?
 Víte, že... 
  
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ostatní skladby Rogera Waterse

Poznámka: Zde naleznete texty skladeb, které Roger Waters nahrál, ale nevydal na řadovém albu. Skladba Incarceration of a Flower Child byla vydána na albu Vagabond Ways zpěvačky Marianne Faithfull. Skladba Without Blame se objevila na albu Jammu Africa Ismaela Loa opět s vokály Marianne Faithfull. Skladby Leaving Beirut a To Kill the Child byly vydány pouze na iternetu, stejně jako singl Hello (I Love You), který se objevil i ve filmu The Last Mimzy. Skladba The Flickering Flame byla vydána na kompilaci The Flickering Flame - solo years, vol. 1 jako jediná nová skladba na této desce.

Flickering Flame

When my neurons conspire to distract my thoughts
Away from divorce and competitive sports
Back to the place where all rivers run to the sea
Then I shall be free
Then I shall be free
On a see-saw in a strange land
The jackdaw sat on the cardinals hand
And the fiddlers played
And the planners plan what would be
On a back seat in a court room
sat Molly Malone and Leopold Bloom
Until the police came down with a new broom
And swept them clean
Like Geronimo
Like Quinn the Eskimo
Like Blackfoot
And like the Arapaho
Like Crazy Horse
I'll be the last one to lay down my gun...
And when the bell sounds for that final round
I'll be there
On the open road in a bar room
A pick up band plays a new tune
When the coloured girl sing
I feel my heart boom
When a new song hits the right note
When a clearing in the sky saves an old boat
When an answer strikes the mote
From my own eye
Like Geronimo
Like Quinn the Eskimo
Like the Blackfoot
And like the Arapaho
Like Crazy Horse
I'll be the last one to lay down my gun...
They're the same beyond the next plain
I'll feel the heat of the flickering flame
On an African Plain by a thorn tree
My old friend Philippe is waiting for me
Que se passe Que se passe
What ever will be will be
When a friend dies and the tears rise
From that deep well that never runs dry
And the women break their bracelets
And the men take their whisky outside
In a pied 'a' terre on the rue St. Denis
The red velvet curtain pulls back to reveal
The place where the dark side meets the angel in me...
the angel in me
When my synapses pause in their quest for applause
When my ego lets go of its end of the bone
To focus instead on a love that is precious to me
Then I shall be free
Then I shall be free

Hello (I Love You)

Have you heard
it was on the news
your child can read you like a bedtime story
Like a Magazine
Like a has-been out to grass
Like afternoon T.V.
Why is my life going by so fast?
Hello I love you
Is there anybody in there?
Put down the phone
Shut up the shop
Make all their techno babble stop
We'll find a short-waved frequency
the wave connecting you and me
Hello I love you.
Have you heard
it was on the news
the general staff can't figure out
is this campaign win or lose
Life is long but it goes fast
the kids will have to separate
their future from our past.
Hello I love you
Is there anybody in there?
the ghosts are walking by my side
I feel their love I feel their pride
For I have built a bridge or two
bridges between me and you
Hello I love you.
Have you heard
it was on the news
you can make your peace
on the dark side of the moon
I'll see you there
we can rock 'n' roll
we can make our choice
we can say goodbye or say hello.

Leaving Beirut

So we left Beirut Willa and I
He headed East to Baghdad and the rest of it
I set out North
I walked the five or six miles to the last of the street lamps
And hunkered in the curb side dusk
Holding out my thumb
In no great hope at the ramshackle procession of home bound traffic
Success!
An ancient Mercedes 'dolmus '
The ubiquitous, Arab, shared taxi drew up
I turned out my pockets and shrugged at the driver
"J'ai pas de l'argent"
"Venez!" A soft voice from the back seat
The driver lent wearily across and pushed open the back door
I stooped to look inside at the two men there
One besuited, bespectacled, moustached, irritated, distant, late
The other, the one who had spoken,
Frail, fifty five-ish, bald, sallow, in a short sleeved pale blue cotton shirt
With one biro in the breast pocket
A clerk maybe, slightly sunken in the seat
"Venez!" He said again, and smiled
"Mais j'ai pas de l'argent"
"Oui, Oui, d'accord, Venez!"
Are these the people that we should bomb
Are we so sure they mean us harm
Is this our pleasure, punishment or crime
Is this a mountain that we really want to climb
The road is hard, hard and long
Put down that two by four
This man would never turn you from his door
Oh George! Oh George!
That Texas education must have fucked you up when you were very small
He beckoned with a small arthritic motion of his hand
Fingers together like a child waving goodbye
The driver put my old Hofner guitar in the boot with my rucksack
And off we went
"Vous etes Francais, monsieur?"
"Non, Anglais"
"Ah! Anglais"
"Est-ce que vous parlais Anglais, Monsieur?"
"Non, je regrette"
And so on
In small talk between strangers, his French alien but correct
Mine halting but eager to please
A lift, after all, is a lift
Late moustache left us brusquely
And some miles later the dolmus slowed at a crossroads lit by a single lightbulb
Swung through a U-turn and stopped in a cloud of dust
I opened the door and got out
But my benefactor made no move to follow
The driver dumped my guitar and rucksack at my feet
And waving away my thanks returned to the boot
Only to reappear with a pair of alloy crutches
Which he leaned against the rear wing of the Mercedes.
He reached into the car and lifted my companion out
Only one leg, the second trouser leg neatly pinned beneath a vacant hip
"Monsieur, si vous voulez, ca sera un honneur pour nous
Si vous venez avec moi a la maison pour manger avec ma femme"
When I was 17 my mother, bless her heart, fulfilled my summer dream
She handed me the keys to the car
We motored down to Paris, fuelled with Dexedrine and booze
Got bust in Antibes by the cops
And fleeced in Naples by the wops
But everyone was kind to us, we were the English dudes
Our dads had helped them win the war
When we all knew what we were fighting for
But now an Englishman abroad is just a US stooge
The bulldog is a poodle snapping round the scoundrel's last refuge
"Ma femme", thank God! Monopod but not queer
The taxi drove off leaving us in the dim light of the swinging bulb
No building in sight
What the hell
"Merci monsieur"
"Bon, Venez!"
His faced creased in pleasure, he set off in front of me
Swinging his leg between the crutches with agonising care
Up the dusty side road into the darkness
After half an hour we'd gone maybe half a mile
When on the right I made out the low profile of a building
He called out in Arabic to announce our arrival
And after some scuffling inside a lamp was lit
And the changing angle of light in the wide crack under the door
Signalled the approach of someone within
The door creaked open and there, holding a biblical looking oil lamp
Stood a squat, moustached woman, stooped smiling up at us
She stood aside to let us in and as she turned
I saw the reason for her stoop
She carried on her back a shocking hump
I nodded and smiled back at her in greeting, fighting for control
The gentleness between the one-legged man and his monstrous wife
Almost too much for me
Is gentleness too much for us
Should gentleness be filed along with empathy
We feel for someone else's child
Every time a smart bomb does its sums and gets it wrong
Someone else's child dies and equities in defence rise
America, America, please hear us when we call
You got hip-hop, be-bop, hustle and bustle
You got Atticus Finch
You got Jane Russell
You got freedom of speech
You got great beaches, wildernesses and malls
Don't let the might, the Christian right, fuck it all up
For you and the rest of the world
They talked excitedly
She went to take his crutches in routine of care
He chiding, gestured
We have a guest
She embarrassed by her faux pas
Took my things and laid them gently in the corner
"Du the?"
We sat on meagre cushions in one corner of the single room
The floor was earth packed hard and by one wall a raised platform
Some six foot by four covered by a simple sheet, the bed
The hunchback busied herself with small copper pots over an open hearth
And brought us tea, hot and sweet
And so to dinner
Flat, unleavened bread, + thin
Cooked in an iron skillet over the open hearth
Then folded and dipped into the soft insides of female sea urchins
My hostess did not eat, I ate her dinner
She would hear of nothing else, I was their guest
And then she retired behind a curtain
And left the men to sit drinking thimbles full of Arak
Carefully poured from a small bottle with a faded label
Soon she reappeared, radiant
Carrying in her arms their pride and joy, their child.
I'd never seen a squint like that
So severe that as one eye looked out the other disappeared behind its nose
Not in my name, Tony, you great war leader you
Terror is still terror, whosoever gets to frame the rules
History's not written by the vanquished or the damned
Now we are Genghis Khan, Lucretia Borghia, Son of Sam
In 1961 they took this child into their home
I wonder what became of them
In the cauldron that was Lebanon
If I could find them now, could I make amends?
How does the story end?
And so to bed, me that is, not them
Of course they slept on the floor behind a curtain
Whilst I lay awake all night on their earthen bed
Then came the dawn and then their quiet stirrings
Careful not to wake the guest
I yawned in great pretence
And took the proffered bowl of water heated up and washed
And sipped my coffee in its tiny cup
And then with much "merci-ing" and bowing and shaking of hands
We left the woman to her chores
And we men made our way back to the crossroads
The painful slowness of our progress accentuated by the brilliant morning light
The dolmus duly reappeared
My host gave me one crutch and leaning on the other
Shook my hand and smiled
"Merci, monsieur," I said
"De rien"
"And merci a votre femme, elle est tres gentille"
Giving up his other crutch
He allowed himself to be folded into the back seat again
"Bon voyage, monsieur," he said
And half bowed as the taxi headed south towards the city
I turned North, my guitar over my shoulder
And the first hot gust of wind
Quickly dried the salt tears from my young cheeks

To Kill The Child

The child lay
In the starlit night
Safe in the glow of his Donald Duck light
How strange to choose to take a life
How strange to choose to kill a child
Hoover, Blaupunkt, Nissan Jeep
Nike, Addidas, Lacoste and cheaper brands
Cadillac, Amtrak, gasoline, diesel
Our standard of living, could this be a reason
That we would choose to kill the child
That we would choose to kill the child
Allah, Jehovah, Buddha, Christ
Confucius and Kali and reds, beans and rice
Goujons of sole, ris de veau, ham hocks
Lox bagels and bones and commandments in stone
The Bible, Koran, Shinto, Islam
Prosciutto, risotto, falafel and ham
Is it dogma, doughnuts, ridicule faith
Fear of the dark, or shame or disgrace
That we would choose to kill the child
That we would choose to kill the child
It's cold in the desert
And the space is too big
The rope is too short
And the walls are too thick
I will show you no weakness
I will mock you in song
Berate and deride you
Belittle and chide you
Beat you with sticks
And bulldoze your home You can watch my triumphant procession to Rome
Best seat in the house
Up there on the cross
Is it anger or envy, profit or loss
That we would choose to kill the child
That we would choose to kill the child
Take this child and hold him closely
Keep him safe from the holy reign of terror
Take this child hold him closely
Take this child to the moral high ground
Where he can look down on the bigots and bully boys
Slugging it out in the yard

Each Small Candle

Not the torturer will scare me
Nor the body's final fall
Nor the barrels of death's rifles
Nor the shadows on the wall
Nor the night when to the ground
The last dim star of pain, is held
But the blind indifference
Of a merciless unfeeling world
Lying in the burnt out shell
Of some Albanian farm
An old Babushka
Holds a crying baby in her arms
A soldier from the other side
A man of heart and pride
Breaks ranks, lays down his rifle
And kneels by her side
He binds her wounds
He gives her food
And calms the crying child
She gives him absolution then
Across the great divide
He picks his way back through the broken
China of her life
And there at the kerb
The samaritan Serb turns..
Turns and waves.. goodbye
And each small candle
Lights a corner of the dark...

Lost Boys Calling

Come hold me now
I am not gone
I would not leave you here alone
In this dead calm beneath the waves
I can still hear those lost boys calling
You could not speak
You were afraid
To take the risk of being left again
And so you tipped your hat and waved and then
You turned back up the gangway of that steel tomb again
And in Mott Street in July
When I hear those seabirds cry
I hold the child The child in the man
The child that we leave behind
And in Mott Street in July
When I hear those seabirds cry
I hold the child The child in the man
The child that we leave behind, the spotlight fades
The boys disband, the final notes lie mute upon the sand
And in the silence of the grave
I can still hear those lost boys calling
We left them there
When they were young
The men were gone until the west was won
And now there's nothing left but time to kill
You never took us fishing dad
And now you never will
And in Mott Street in July
When I hear those seabirds cry
I hold the child
The child in the man
The child that we leave behind

Going To Live In L.A.


Molly stood still in the rain and wept
Young Billy kicked stones down the courthouse step
The police linked arms in a line to hold back the crowd
How much longer Mum, said Ben
Why's that policeman kicking that man?
Can we have a bit of jam on our bread today?
Then the whistle blew and the gates swung back
Wave, said Molly
Ben waved his cap
At two eyes looking through a little slot
Like someone dying in a letter box
And Molly said
Say goodbye to the valley
Say goodbye to the rain
Through the miracle of telecommunications
In the private sector
We got a message today
Your Great Uncle David, your great Uncle David
The one who went to the USA
The one with the swimming pool and the palm trees
And the big dog, the big dog
Has asked you to stay, to stay
And you're going, going, going
To live in LA
Going, going, going
Oh, Hollywood hills
Oh, midnight thrills
Benny, your time has come
Oh, oh, Benny don't drink the water
Stay away from the cocaine slaughter
Oh, Benny, you don't get caught, you'll have some fun
And I'm going into him
Benny, Benny
Yeah!
Get down
Oh no, Benny, be cool, don't drink the water
Oh no, Benny, stay away from the boss' daughter
And there's a hundred miles of sushi bars
And pastel convertible cars
And up on Mulholland Drive
Where Warren Beatty locks himself in his safe at night just to stay alive
Nothing's going on
Nothin's goin' on

Without Blame

All women are queens
But some are more regal than others
Some shatter men's dreams
By breaking away from their lovers
Of one such woman I sing
Who said when her man let the enemy in
I'm gone, gone with the wind
The love you would not defend with your life
You cannot pretend now with tears in your eyes
I'm gone, gone with the wind
I'm gone in search of a new king
All women are queens
No matter what their environs
Behind the myriad shapes that we see
Dwell mysterious sirens
Burn the towns
Burn the back street bars
Burn your boardwalk basement trade
Feel the flame feel the cut of the sword
your living flesh reeks of compromise made
In the face of barbarian hoards
An honest defeat is the only reward
The love you would not defend with your life
You cannot pretend now with tears in your eyes
I'm gone, gone with the wind
I'm gone in search of a new king
All women are queens
Tell this to the woman who loves you
You may not live up to her dreams
This even a king cannot always do
So this queen with her pure strength unveiled
Leaves the king a good man but weak and afraid
She leaves as she must like an ebbing tide
Drawn out of sight by the moons of pure light
The love that you would not defend with your life
You cannot pretend with tears in your eyes
I am gone, gone with the wind
I am gone in search of a new king
I am gone
Without blame

Untitled Poem

There is a magic in some books
That sucks a man into connections with
The spirits hard to touch
That join him to his kind
A man will seek the reading out
Guarded like a canteen in the desert heat
But sometimes needs must drink
And then the final drop falls sweet
The last page turns
The end
Not so with you my wife
My love, my life I do not have to seek you out
I read you day and night
And drink and bathe
And share my coat
And droplets spray in rainbows
From that distant age
And we will never
Taste the final drop
Nor turn the final page

Incarceration Of a Flower Child

Do you remember me?
How we used to be?
Helpless, and happy and blind
Sunk without hope
In a haze of good dope
And cheap wine
Laying on the living floor
On those Indian tapestry cushions you made
Thinking of calling our first born Jasmine or Jade
Don't do it!
Don't do it!
Don't do it!
Don't do it to me
Don't think about it!
Don't think about it!
Don't think about it!
Don't think about what it might be
Don't get up to open the door
Just stay with me here on the floor
It's gonna get cold in the 1970s
You wouldn't listen
You thought you knew better
You'll just have to speak to that man
Please believe me
I'll visit whenever I can
There in your little white room
With no windows
And three square sedations a day
You plead with the doctor
Whose running the show
Please don't take Jasmine away
And leave me alone
Don't do it!
Don't do it!
Don't do it!
Don't do it to me
Don't think about it!
Don't think about it!
Don't think about it!
Don't think about what it might be
Don't get up to open the door
Just stay with me here on the floor
It's gonna get cold in the 1970s
Do you remember me?
How we used to be?
Helpless, and happy and blind
Sunk without hope
In a haze of good dope
And cheap wine
Now in your little white room
With no windows
And three square sedations a day
You plead with the doctor
Whose running the show
Please don't take Jasmine away
And leave me alone
 
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