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CLARK, Gene



Eight Miles High


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 their own


Nowhere is there warmth to be found

Among those afraid of losing their ground

Rain gray 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