Cloudy, the sky is gray and white and cloudy.
Sometimes I think it's hanging down on me,
And it's a hitchhike a hundred miles;
I'm a rag-a-muffin 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 borders, no boundaries;
They echo and they swell,
From Tolstoy to Tinker Bell,
Down from Berkeley to Carmel.
Got some poems 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 question, why?
And they linger there or die.
They don't know where they are going, and, my friend, neither do I.
(Repeat and fade)