Out of the blue,
on the wings of a dove,
a messenger comes
with the beating of drums,
it's not a message of love.

Our children are born,
and we keep them warm,
they must have the right
to live in the light,
to be safe from the storm.

And Out of the blue,
with wings on his heels,
a messenger comes,
bearing regrets
for the time that he steals.

But steal it he will!
My children's and mine,
against our desires
against all our needs.
Our blood spilled like wine.

Over and Over we call!
No one hears.
Further and
further,
and further we fall!

Though we pray that we soon will awake,
it is clear,
that it's no dream at all
our lives are at stake!

I can not believe,
nor even pretend,
that the thunder I hear
will just disappear,
and the nightmare will end.

So hold back the fire,
because this much is true,
when all's said and done,
the ending will come,
from out of the blue.

David Gilmour 2006


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