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Eight miles high and when you touch down
You'll find that it's stranger than now
Signs in the street that say where you're going
Are somewhere just being there all
Nowhere is there warmth to be found
Among those afraid of losing their ground
Rain gray town known for its sounds
And the braces, 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, huddle in stores
Some laughing, some just shapeless forms
Sidewalk scenes and black limousines
Some living, some standing alone
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