Down the road and past the street
Cobblestones appear to greet
Tired, restless, weary feet
They will all appear to meet

People on their way to work
Some are bankers, some are clerks
All have simple little lives
They're all sad and they all hate their wives

Underneath all peoples' smiles
Underlying sense of guile
Back and forth we throw ourselves
To not read books and dust our shelves

I can't help but think that sometimes
That there's nothing back here for me
No sound in space, what can that mean?
How will I talk when I'm out there?

Up above, high in the sky
Where aeroplanes, they swoop and fly
People look through small windows
At the landscape far below

I can't help but think that sometimes
That there's nothing for me back here
No sound in space, what can that mean?
How will I talk when I'm out there?