Eight Miles High

Eight miles high and when we touch down

You 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-grey town known for its sounds

Embrace it as small faces abound

In July, 1965, The Byrds first visited Great Britain. I was twelve.

You weren't even born yet. That situation continued.

Round the square and out in the storms

Some laughing, some just shapeless forms

Sidewalk scenes and black limousines

Some living, some standing alone