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I heard it in the wind last night |
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It sounded like applause |
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Did you get a round resounding for you |
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Way up here |
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It seems like many dim years ago |
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Since I heard that face to face |
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Or seen you face to face |
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Though tonight I can feel you here |
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I get these notes |
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On butterflies and lilac sprays |
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From girls who just have to tell me |
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They saw you somewhere |
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In some office sits a poet |
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And he trembles as he sings |
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And he asks some guy |
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To circulate his soul around |
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On your mark red ribbon runner |
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The caressing rev of motors |
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Finely tuned like fancy women |
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In thirties evening gowns |
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Up the charts |
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Off to the airport- |
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Your names in the news |
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Everything's first class- |
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The lights go down- |
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And it's just you up there |
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Getting them to feel like that |
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Remember the days when you used to sit |
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And make up your tunes for love |
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And pour your simple sorrow |
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To the sound hole and your knee |
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And now you're seen |
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On giant screens |
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And at parties for the press |
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And for people who have slices of you |
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From the company |
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They toss around your latest golden egg |
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Speculation-well, who's to know |
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If the next one in the nest |
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Will glitter for them so |
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I guess I seem ungrateful |
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With my teeth sunk in the hand |
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That brings me things |
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I really can't give up just yet |
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Now I sit up here |
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The critic! |
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And they introduce some band |
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But they seem so much confetti |
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Looking at them on my T.V. set |
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Oh the power and the glory |
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Just when you're getting a taste for worship |
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They start bringing out the hammers |
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And the boards |
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And the nails |
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I heard it in the wind last night |
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It sounded like applause |
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Chilly now |
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End of summer |
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No more shiny hot nights |
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It was just the arbutus rustling |
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And the bumping of the logs |
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And the moon swept down black water |
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Like an empty spotlight |
