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(David Gilmour, R. Harper)





You ask what is the quality of life?

Seeking to justify the part you play

And hide, fearing it incomplete, to try

To make it any more or less than short and sweet



But short, short is from you to me, as close

As we are wont to try to make it be

We're caught watching the dark in the sky, who knows?

Helpless as time itself to hold the time of day



And you, you are a fantasy, a view

From where you'd like to think the world should see

Be true and you will likely find a few

Building a vision new and justice to our time



And we, we, the immoral men, we dare

Naked and fearless in the elements

And free, carefree of tempting fate, aware

And holding off the moral nightmare at the gates



And sweet, sweet as a mountain stream, we'll look

Toward a new day breaking in the east

We'll meet as every future dream unfolds

And surely quality that is the very least