All of those fuzzy, black light poster kind of nights…

Pink Floyd.
My large purchases of my 15’s to 17’s were music and posters. I’d get the fuzzy posters that glowed under the black lights. With pride, I’d hang them in my bedroom. Mostly Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin. Actually, only Floyd and Zeppelin.
I’d turn on my lavalamp (I swear it was the ’90s…blame my hippie mom for her influence), lay on my bed with Floyd (or Zeppelin) on repeat, staring at their posters, trying to memorize all lyrics to all albums.
I studied their music like it was an extra class on my school schedule. My after-school activity, if you will.
I even bought a Pink Floyd t-shirt in size large, which disapointed my mom who always wanted me in ruffled dresses and sandals.
Once I moved from home (and the acres of hippies in Southern Oregon) ditched the band t-shirts for skirts and cowboy boots, I still kept the love for Floyd (and Zeppelin).

So, to my roots, those fuzzy black light posters, the hours of solitary Pink Floyd memorizing of my youth and to good music, here is a damn fine song:

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