Eight miles high
And when you
Touch down
You'll find
That it's stranger
Than the known
Signs in the street
That say where
You're going
Or somewhere
Just breathing
Their own
Nowhere is
There one
To be found
Among those afraid
Of losing their
Ground
Maine grey town
Known for
It's sound
In places
Small faces
Are known
Now the squares
A moving storm
Some laughing
Some just shapeless
Forms
Sidewalk scenes
And black limousines
Some living
Some standing alone...
