And progress he does continuing with the war-themed "Bring The Boys Back Home," a hymn-like chant that Roger Waters calls "the central song on the whole album" (1979 interview). Similar to the narrative alteration with the summary in the middle of "Hey You," the song offers a shift in perspectives to what appears to be the collective voices of England, of the world, of all men. Though the lyrics and music specifically recall the war era of the late 1940's with the chorus asking for an end to war's devastation, "Bring the Boys Back Home" is applicable to every generation in that its underlying message is the very foundation of social life. For Waters, the song is the lynch pin in that "it's partly about not letting people go off and be killed in wars, but it's also partly about not allowing rock and roll, or making cars or selling soap or getting involved in biological research or anything that anybody might do, not letting that become such an important and 'jolly boys' game' that it becomes more important than friends, wives, children, other people." In essence the song's ultimate message of human connection is the very thing that Pink has missed, failed at, or rejected throughout his life. And it's the only thing that can bring down his wall.

Though it might seem odd for the answer to Pink's problem to just suddenly appear in the midst of the album, it is not unheard of in the world of literature, or more specifically theater. Many authors have used deus ex machina to bring about sudden resolution to a play's central dilemmas. The term itself is derived from the Latin meaning "god from the machine" which comes from the Greek theatrical tradition of lowering a deity onto the stage by means of a crane so that he or she might intervene in a difficult predicament. The technique has been used ever since, though the Greek and Roman gods have since been replaced with fortuitous events, unexplainable messages, or contrived characters that are introduced solely to resolve the plot or situation. In the tradition of this seasoned stage device, "Bring The Boys Back Home" acts as the deus ex machina for Waters' epic story, though the usual Floydian twist prevents this resolving technique from untangling either the plot or Pink's current situation. If anything, the inclusion of this song is a reminder that the answers to life's difficulties are generally all around. But like Pink many of us are so blinded from building our walls too high and too fast that we either disregard or overlook the obvious solutions to our problems.

Despite the unexpected answer in the midst of turmoil, Pink continues to dwell on his bricks, many of which are audibly depicted in the loop of sounds at the end of the song. The teacher's harsh criticisms, the groupie's oblivious concern, and in the mix a new sound from the present seamlessly entwined with the audio clutter of Pink's past. Unconscious of his manager knocking at the door telling him that it's "time to go" to perform at his concert, the sounds of Pink's life blend and grow until the multiple facets of his psyche once again ask "is there anybody out there?" After the answering, collective voices of "Bring the Boys Back Home," it is easy for the listener to answer that there are people "out there." But for the incognizant Pink, however, the answer is just another insignificant noise buried within the multiple layers of his auditory self-absorption.

The sudden appearance of the drummers marching out of the fog in the cinematic depiction of "Bring The Boys Back Home" is as fitting a deus ex machina as any. While the chronology of Pink's age was the only detail belying the historical voracity of "Vera," the highly stylized "Boys" sequence discards the pretense of narrative continuity in order to emphasize both the stunning visuals and the underlying message of resolution. Every person at the train station turns towards young Pink and sings in unison while Pink, occupying his own little island of isolation amongst the crowd, turns from face to singing face without uttering a single word. He is at once alienated from the crowd because he has no father nor any loved one there, but he's also isolated in that he is not singing the common chorus nor does he even hint at knowing it. As mentioned before, he is oblivious to the answers that are found all around him.

As the band marches back into the fog, the scene shifts to show a group of soldiers lounging against the dirt walls of a trench. Unlike those in Pink's barren mental landscape, the soldiers depicted in this sequence are alive, healthy, and seemingly untouched by the devastation of war. And unlike the earlier shot of soldiers advancing into the fog in "the Thin Ice," the troops in "Bring the Boys Back Home" march into a fog that is clearing under the prominent blaze of the noonday sun. Recalling that light is often associated with truth in literature, the soldiers progress out of the metaphorical death of the all-consuming mist and into the warmth of the collective voice, the truth of common humanity that shatters walls and connects all life. In a scene remindful of the chanting school children in "Another Brick In the Wall Part 2," row upon row of singing soldiers fills the screen hinting at both the conformity as well as the common bonds of human existence. Such a scene also recalls Pink's earlier, if not entirely heart-felt, line that "together we stand, divided we fall," once again reminding the viewer of the answer to Pink's predicament: we need each other to truly exist.

But in spite of this repeated resolution, the song ends abruptly as Pink walks alone over the train platform towards the familiar TV, lamp, and chair. He is equally alone in the deserted station as he was in his barren, war-scarred landscape. Though he shouted the answer at the end of "Hey You" and heard it throughout "Bring the Boys Back Home," Pink is still separated from the rest of the world, a prisoner of war who is unaware that the key to his mental cell is within his grasp.

After young Pink settles back into the chair to watch TV, the scene cuts to his adult self sitting catatonic in the same position in front of the television in his disheveled hotel room. Auditory thoughts from his past blend with the pounding at the door and as if in answer to the question of anybody being "out there," Pink's manager and crew break into his room. Yes, there are people "out there," though those who find him just might not be able to provide the exact help Pink is looking for. If anything, they fortify the mental prison that Pink has constructed.