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