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Memory of a Free Festival, Pt. 2
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David Bowie
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The children of the summer's end
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Gathered in the dampened grass,
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We played Our songs and felt the London sky
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Resting on our hands
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It was God's land.
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It was ragged and naive.
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It was Heaven.
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Touch, we touched the very soul
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Of holding each and every life.
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We claimed the very source of joy ran through.
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It didn't, but it seemed that way.
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I kissed a lot of people that day.
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Oh, to capture just one drop of all the ecstasy that swept that afternoon,
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To paint that love upon a white balloon,
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And fly it from the toppest top of all the tops that man has pushed beyond his
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Brain.
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Satoria must be something just the same.
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We scanned the skies with rainbow eyes and saw machines of every shape and size.
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We talked with tall Venusians passing through.
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And Peter tried to climb aboard but the Captain shook his head
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And away they soared,
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Climbing through the ivory vibrant cloud.
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Someone passed some bliss among the crowd.
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And we walked back to the road, unchained.
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