McGuinn-Crosby-Clark 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 goin' Are somewhere just being their own. Nowhere is their warmth to be found Among those afraid of losing their ground Rain, grey town known for its 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 standing alone.
McGuinn-Crosby-Clark 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 goin' Are somewhere just being their own. Nowhere is their warmth to be found Among those afraid of losing their ground Rain, grey town known for its 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 standing alone.
