P. Simon, 1966
Cloudy
The sky is gray and white and cloudy
Sometimes I think it's hanging down on me
And it's a hitch-hike a hundred miles
I'm a ragamuffin child
Pointed finger-painted smile
I left my shadow waiting down the road for me a while
Cloudy
My thoughts are scattered and they're cloudy
They have no boreders, no boundaries
They echo and they swell
From Tolstoy to Tinker Bell
Down from Berkeley to Carmel
Got some pictures in my pocket and a lot of time to kill
Hey sunshine
I haven't seen you in a long time
Why don't you show your face and bend my mind?
These clouds stick to the sky
Like a floating questions "why"
And they linger there to die
They don't know where they're going, and, my friend, neither do I
Cloudy... Cloudy...
taylor*)
