The Sacred Harp Paul Simon

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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