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"Я постоянно пребываю в состоянии внутреннего онемения, брожу по жизни абсолютно бесчувственный. Я не человек, я — льдинка." (Ноябрь, 1976).

Дэвид Боуи

"Memory Of A Free Festival"

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 land
It was ragged and naive
It was Heaven
 
Touch, We touched the very soul
Of holding each 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."
 
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