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Clark Kent Phone Booth
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Robert Frost Goes To The Stratosphere
Two hands are painting out the galaxy where I am grey
And walkin' on, but oh…so still
Some factory poets got million words to say
But everyday the noise of those machines erase them
And hopin' there's a place where I belong to
Where every step I do, would do me good
And these planets up above my head should crumble
I'll carve on every tree your name…
Some people spread their washing clothes out
With that sorrow life can bring, but oh…so silently
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Out on the roofs I still can hear the clang of drums,
Electric bands made up on words and promises
And hopin' all your sons would be much better
Than what our glory days could ever be
And the constellations up above should blend, oh my…
I'll carve on every star your name…
I'll carve on every star your name…
(stratosphere solo)
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