Robert Frost Goes To The Stratosphere

Two hands are painting out the galaxy where I am grey
And walkin on, but ohso still
Some factory poets got million words to say
But everyday the noise of those machines erase them

And hopin theres a place where I belong to
Where every step I do, would do me good
And these planets up above my head should crumble
Ill carve on every tree your name

Some people spread their washing clothes out
With that sorrow life can bring, but ohso silently
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
Illcarve on every star your name
Ill carve on every star your name

(stratosphere solo)