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Two hands are painting out the galaxy where I am grey
And walkinâ on, but ohâ¦so still
Some factory poets got million words to say
But everyday the noise of those machines erase them
And hopinâ thereâs a place where I belong to
Where every step I do, would do me good
And these planets up above my head should crumble
Iâll carve on every tree your nameâ¦
Some people spread their washing clothes out
With that sorrow life can bring, but ohâ¦so silently
Out on the roofs I still can hear the clang of drums,
Electric bands made up on words and promises
And hopinâ all your sons would be much better
Than what our glory days could ever be
And the constellations up above should blend, oh myâ¦
Iâll carve on every star your nameâ¦
Iâll carve on every star your nameâ¦
(stratosphere solo)