Memory of a Free Festival - David Bowie

The Children of the summer’s end

Gathered in the dampened grass,

We played Our songs and felt the London sky

Resting on our hands.

It was God’s lang.

It was ragged and naive.

It was Heaven.

Touch, We touched the very soul

Of holding and and every life.

We claimed the very source of joy ran through.

It didn’t, but it seemed that way.

I kissed a lot of people that day.

Oh, to capture just one drop of all the ecstasy that

swept that afternoon,

To paint that love upon a white balloon,

And fly it from the topest top of all the tops that

man has pushed beyond his brain.

Satori must be something just the same.

We scanned the skies with rainbow eyes and saw

machines of every shape and size.

We talked with tall Venusians passing through.

And Peter tried to climb aboard but the Captain

shook his head

And away they soared,

Climbing through the ivory vibrant cloud.

Someone passed some bliss among the crowd.

And We walked back to the road, unchained.

«The Sun Machine is Coming Down,

and We’re Gonna

Have a Party.»

«The Sun Machine is Coming Down,

and We’re Gonna

Have a Party.»

«The Sun Machine is Coming Down,

and We’re Gonna

Have a Party.»

«The Sun Machine is Coming Down,

and We’re Gonna

Have a Party.»

«The Sun Machine is Coming Down,

and We’re Gonna

Have a Party.»