Pink Shot himself.
He layed there. Motionless, he had finally found peace.
There was knock on the door. Pink woke up, gun in hand.
“It’s the police... open up”
He looked to his right, and he clearly saw that a bullet had gone through is wall. Another smash hit the door. Pink felt his head, no blood, but more importantly, no bullet wound. He nearly tripped on the three bottles of vodka he must of pounded out last night. He opened the door.
“Why do you keep trying?”
“What do you mean?
His father looked down, at the revolver Pink was still holding. Three bullets remained in the chamber.
“It only takes one bullet to do the deed.”
Pink held the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger three times. Nothing happened. Bullets hit the wall with loud thumps.
“Do you believe me now?”
“Why the fuck are you still here?”
“Someone is waiting on you.”
“Fuck him...”
The is the first time father floyd changed emotion. He was internally angered with Pink.
“Alright you little shit. Let me put this into terms you will understand. You’ll probably recognize it. You are three different pigs, as one”
Father Floyd began to sing:
“Big man, pig man, ha ha, charade you are
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha, charade you are
And when your hand is on your heart
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost a joker
With your head down in the pig bin
Saying "keep on digging"
Pig stain on your fat chin
What do you hope to find?
When you're down in the pig mine
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Bus stop rat bag, ha ha, charade you are
You fucked up old hag, ha ha, charade you are
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost worth a quick grin
You like the feel of steel
You're hot stuff with a hat pin
And good fun with a hand gun
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Hey you Whitehouse, ha ha, charade you are
You house proud town mouse, ha ha, charade you are
You're trying to keep our feelings off the street
You're nearly a real treat
All tight lips and cold feet
And do you feel abused?
.....!.....!.....!.....!
You gotta stem the evil tide
And keep it all on the inside
Mary you're nearly a treat
Mary you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cry.”
Pink sang along. When they were finished, Pink fell down and cried. He hadn’t realized that his own songs were about him. He thought they were political actions, but no, it was his own future.
Father Floyd whipped out another plane ticket.
“They are waiting.”
Pink took the ticket, called the cab, and three hours later, he was on flight 1979 to London.
----------------------------------
The guitar being the only thing he brought, Pink had an easy time getting to David. They were at the O2. Roger had an old tour shirt on, 1977. The Floyd had just released “Animals” that year. There was a third person. It was Nick Mason. Pink had thought for sure he was dead.
“Pink,” David offered his hand.
“Hello David... Nick,” as he returned the favor.
“This is your son Pink.”
Roger walked over and offered to shake, but Pink grabbed him immediately. This is the first time he had hugged someone since the band had broken up.
“Son.”
Tears began to roll down his face.
“Pink, I know you want to spend time with Roger, but tomorrow night is important. We do our last show. You will have all of the time in the world to catch up,” David said casually.
They walked into the arena and began to practice. Roger just sat in the front row and listened , in awe.
He layed there. Motionless, he had finally found peace.
There was knock on the door. Pink woke up, gun in hand.
“It’s the police... open up”
He looked to his right, and he clearly saw that a bullet had gone through is wall. Another smash hit the door. Pink felt his head, no blood, but more importantly, no bullet wound. He nearly tripped on the three bottles of vodka he must of pounded out last night. He opened the door.
“Why do you keep trying?”
“What do you mean?
His father looked down, at the revolver Pink was still holding. Three bullets remained in the chamber.
“It only takes one bullet to do the deed.”
Pink held the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger three times. Nothing happened. Bullets hit the wall with loud thumps.
“Do you believe me now?”
“Why the fuck are you still here?”
“Someone is waiting on you.”
“Fuck him...”
The is the first time father floyd changed emotion. He was internally angered with Pink.
“Alright you little shit. Let me put this into terms you will understand. You’ll probably recognize it. You are three different pigs, as one”
Father Floyd began to sing:
“Big man, pig man, ha ha, charade you are
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha, charade you are
And when your hand is on your heart
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost a joker
With your head down in the pig bin
Saying "keep on digging"
Pig stain on your fat chin
What do you hope to find?
When you're down in the pig mine
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Bus stop rat bag, ha ha, charade you are
You fucked up old hag, ha ha, charade you are
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost worth a quick grin
You like the feel of steel
You're hot stuff with a hat pin
And good fun with a hand gun
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Hey you Whitehouse, ha ha, charade you are
You house proud town mouse, ha ha, charade you are
You're trying to keep our feelings off the street
You're nearly a real treat
All tight lips and cold feet
And do you feel abused?
.....!.....!.....!.....!
You gotta stem the evil tide
And keep it all on the inside
Mary you're nearly a treat
Mary you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cry.”
Pink sang along. When they were finished, Pink fell down and cried. He hadn’t realized that his own songs were about him. He thought they were political actions, but no, it was his own future.
Father Floyd whipped out another plane ticket.
“They are waiting.”
Pink took the ticket, called the cab, and three hours later, he was on flight 1979 to London.
----------------------------------
The guitar being the only thing he brought, Pink had an easy time getting to David. They were at the O2. Roger had an old tour shirt on, 1977. The Floyd had just released “Animals” that year. There was a third person. It was Nick Mason. Pink had thought for sure he was dead.
“Pink,” David offered his hand.
“Hello David... Nick,” as he returned the favor.
“This is your son Pink.”
Roger walked over and offered to shake, but Pink grabbed him immediately. This is the first time he had hugged someone since the band had broken up.
“Son.”
Tears began to roll down his face.
“Pink, I know you want to spend time with Roger, but tomorrow night is important. We do our last show. You will have all of the time in the world to catch up,” David said casually.
They walked into the arena and began to practice. Roger just sat in the front row and listened , in awe.
No comments:
Post a Comment