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 raga-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 boreders, no boundaries 
They echo and they swell 
From Tolstoi to Tinkerbell 
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 question why 
And they linger there to die 
They don‘t know where they are going, and, my friend, neither do I 

Cloudy 
Cloudy

1966г.

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