Icy wind of night be gone, this is not your domain.
In the sky a bird was heard to cry.
Misty morning whisperings and gentle stirring sounds,
Belied the deathly silence that lay all around.
In the lazy water meadow I lay me down.
All around me golden sunflakes settle on the ground.
Basking in the sunshine of a bygone afternoon,
Bringing sounds of yesterday into my city room.
(Roger Waters, Grantchester Meadows, 1969)
