Não há ilusões, acha. Assiste, desdenhoso, a outro episódio da vida alheia e fuma o centésimo cigarro. Ri, aplaude, anui. Não há ilusões, confirma. E por isso, continua a mesma lenga-lenga, semana após semana, pretendendo seduzir a plateia e enganar-se a si mesmo. E consegue.
«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 to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
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»
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 to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
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»
Roger Waters
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