Bob Mould
Eight Miles High
Eight miles high and when you touch down
You'll find that it's stranger than known
Signs in the streets 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 unknown for its sound
In places...

Round the squares huddled in storms
Some laughing, some just shapeless forms
Sidewalk scenes and black limousines
Some living, some standing around