The Sacred Harp

Your change of mood
A summer storm erased the sunny sky
Two harpless hitchhikers were signalling 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 aways
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
The moon appeared as amber
In the mist

The Lord is a puff of smoke
That disappears when the winds blow
The Lord is my personal joke
My reflection in the window
I've been thinking about our tribal nature
Our benedictions and our curse
Are we all just trial and error?
One of a billion in the universe?

The Lord is my engineer
The Lord is my record producer
The Lord is the music I hear
Deep in the valley, elusive
The Lord is my engineer
The Lord is the train I ride on
The Lord is the coast, the coast is clear
The path I slip and I slide on