Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today.
Then one day you find, ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you’ve missed the starting gun.
So you run, and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking.
Racing around, to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you’re older.
Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death.

How is it Pink Floyd writes such depressing music, but it’s still so great?