Brown star-sparkling eyes smiled at you in an unexpectedly marvelous night. The misty coffee drunken morning after explodes in church bells-ringing sunshine and suddenly it all makes perfect nonsense.

Dali’s biography painted on Pink Floyd sounds 8 miles high your mind’s flying in the sky your head’s turning fast, balancing with glass shoes on the tone step composition of tomorrow nights music in stone garden memories.

Were these eyes just reflecting a hidden fragment of the past?