There is nothing new under the sun.
But you haven’t been around that long, cynic.
There is nothing new under the sun.
But you haven’t seen nearly as much, traditionalist.
There is nothing new under the sun.
But you stand on the earth under its light, not beside it as its brother.
There is nothing new under the sun.
But in your threescore and ten, there is plenty new before you.
Is that an original Gilmour?
It is. I might work it into an essay later (that’s the medium I prefer), but right now my choppy, preachy poetry will do.