7 miles high not so good.
Eight Miles High, maybe.
By the Byrds.
Eight miles high.
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.
“Nowhere is there warmth to be found”
No kidding! At 8 miles high the temperature is -67°F!.................