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Eight Miles High  Byrds



                [Em]Eight [F#m7]miles [G]high [D]and when you touch [C]down
                [G]You'll find that it's [D]stranger than [C]known [C6]   [C]  [C6]
                [Em]Signs [F#m7]in the [G]street[D] that say where you're [C]going
                [G]Are somewhere [D]just being their [C]own [C6]   [C]  [C6]
                [Em]   [F#m7]     [Em]   [F#m7]        
                [Em]No-[F#m7]where [G]is [D]there to be [C]found
                [G]Among those a[D]fraid of losing their [C]ground[C6]   [C]  [C6]
                [Em]Rain g[F#m7]rey [G]town k[D]nown for its s[C]ound
                [G]In places [D]small places un-[C]boun[C6]d  [C]  [C6]
Lead |: Em F#m(w/Ebass) G(w/Ebass) :|

                [Em]Down [F#m7]the  [G]squares [D]of moving [C]storms
                [G]Some laughing [D]some just shapeless [C]forms[C6]   [C]  [C6]
                [Em]Sidew[F#m7]alk s[G]cenes a[D]nd black limosoui[C]nes
                [G]Some living [D]some standing a[C]lone [C6]   [C]  [C6]

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_/ _/ _/_/ _/ _/ _/ _/ This is MY OPINION ONLY!
_/ _/ _/ _/ _/ _/ _/ _/ It does not reflect the
_/ _/ _/ _/ _/ _/ _/_/ _/ opinions of my employer.
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_/_/_/ _/ _/ _/ _/_/_/ _/ esposito@cbmvax.commodore.com
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Todays music ain't got the same soul, I like that old time rock and roll


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C C6 D Em F#m7 G

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Bob Cummins (report)

The "improved lyrics are almost right. Here are the corrected lyrics:

Eight miles high, and when you touch down,
You'll find that it's stranger than known.

Signs in the street, that say where you're going,
Are somewhere, just being their own.

Nowhere is there warmth to be found,
Among those afraid of losing their ground.

Rain grey town, known for its sound,
In places, small faces unbound.

Down the squares, huddled in storms,
Some laughing, some just shapeless forms.

Sidewalk scenes, and black limousines,
Some living, some standing alone.

ebenami (report)

Corrected lyrics as heard on "The Very Best of the Byrds":

Eight miles high, and when you touch down,
You'll find that it's stranger than known.

Signs in the street, that say where you're going,
Are somewhere, just being their own.

Nowhere is there warmth to be found,
Among those afraid of losing their ground.

Rain grey town, known for its sound,
In places, small faces unbound.

Down the squares, huddled in storms,
Some laughing, some just shapeless forms.

Sidewalk seas, and black limousines,
Some living, some standing alone.