they're building skyscrapers
in my mile-high city,
but it don't bother me.

they're building paper planes
to fly into the ceiling,
but it don't bother me.

because i walk with my feet on the ground;
talk with my head in the clouds;
never knew what it was to be anchored,
never knew anything other than the moon
above my little well.

you've been talking diamonds and
pearls, trying to get in my head
but again i tell you,
it don't bother me.