Eight miles high
And when you touch down
You'll find that it's stranger than known
Signs in the street
That say where you're going
Are somewhere, just being there own
Nowhere is, there warmth to be found
Among those, afraid of losing their ground
Rain, grey town, known for it's sound
In places, small faces unbound
Round the squares, huddled in storms
Some laughing, some just shapeless forms
Sidewalks scenes, and black limousines
Some living, some standing alone

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): David Crosby, Gene Clark, Roger Mcguinn