Fat Old Sun

by David Gilmour

When that fat old sun in the sky is falling
Summer-evening birds are calling
Summer Sunday and a year
The sound of music in my ears

Distant bells, new-mown grass
Smells so sweet
By the river holding hands
Roll me up and lay me down

And if you see, don't make a sound
Pick your feet up off the ground
And if you hear as the warm night folds
The silver sound from a time so strange
Sing to me, sing to me