Words and Music by
Paul Simon
A change of mood
A summer storm erased
the sunny sky
Two hapless
hitchhikers were signaling us
As we were cruising by
Not in the mood
For idle chat or
hitchhike company
Nevertheless
We took them on as
highway courtesy
Hurry get yourselves
inside the truck
We're just going up a
ways
The rain should turn
to mist with any luck
And you can find a
place to stay
The woman spoke
Her voice a blend
Of regional perfumes
We have no destination
The moon and stars
Provide us with our
rooms
My boy and me
We're refugees of
sorts
From my home town
They don't like
different there
They would have mowed
us down
He doesn't talk much
anymore
Just to the voices in
his head
The boy just gazed
down at the floor
And nodded once or
twice at what she said
The sacred harp
That David played to
make his songs of praise
We long to hear those
strings
That set his heart
ablaze
The ringing strings
The thought that God
turns music into bliss. . .
We left the pick-up in
the driveway