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Pipe-Eye
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Some Are Bankers, Some Are Clerks
Down the road and past the street
Cobblestones appear to greet
Tired, restless, weary feet
They will all appear to me
People on their way to work
Some are bankers, some are clerks
All have simple, little lives
They're all set and they all hate their wives
Underneath all people smile
Underlying the sense of guile
Back and forth we grow ourselves
To [?]books and [?]shelves
I can't help but think that sometimes
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There is nothing back here for me
What does 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
There is nothing for me back here
No sound in space
What does that mean
How will I talk when I'm out there
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