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per amica silentia lunae

or, across the ferny brae with the evil voodoo celt

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shine on, you crazy diamond
Pink Floyd founder Syd Barrett dies at home

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange
a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year,
running over the same old ground. What have we found?
The same old fears,
wish you were here.

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"I've got a bike,
you can ride it if you like,
it's got a basket, a bell
and rings and things to make it look good.
I'd give it to you if I could,
but I borrowed it."

He gets credited (sometimes cursed) for introducing childish wonder into psychedelia. I was strongly affected in my teens by an early Pink Floyd album. There aren't any words that don't sound cliche'd and inadequate to communicate how inspired and liberating it was and remains.

Dance freely in the Summerlands, Piper at the Gates of Dawn.

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