Perfect Sense pt1

The monkey sat on a pile of stones

And stared at the broken bone in his hand

And the strains of a Viennese quartetRang out across the land

The monkey looked up at the stars

And thought to himself

Memory is a stranger

History is for fools

And he cleaned his hands

In a pool of holy writing

Turned his back on the garden

And set out for the nearest town

 

( ROGER WATERS - PERFECT SENSE, PART I LYRICS )

Done