Eight miles high, and when you touch down.
You'll find that, it's stranger than known.
Sign's in the street, that say where you're going.
Are somewhere, just being their 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.
Sidewalk scenes, and black limousines.
Some living, some just stand alone.