On the meddle of clouds obscure, Atom Mother was Pink Floyd.

The eclipse of

my thoughts

overshadowed

brought change

in my castings dark,

there were no colours,

but the cutting of my ropes

that held the wall,

they sawed in glee your honour,

as the worms ate into my brain

releasing me to drift,

the final cut,

in psychedelia,

while the division bells.