David Gilmour

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 childern are born, and we keep them
They must have the right, to live in the light
To be safe from the storm
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