Hey, listen, while the feathers fall like rain – turbines of jet planes hum and start to turn. When a man is in the sky, he don’t stop to wonder, “Why?” lest he run screaming down the aisle with any metal they let him keep. But, I’m not in the sky – I’m just sitting on my lawn while the cops keep riding by and frowning as the feathers fall. Hey, listen – strange things come from the sky, stranger than you or I could ever conceive.
Entire Cities, and what they have to give you.
Hall of Records 