Bleecker Street (1963)
By Paul Simon

Fog's rollin' in off the East River bank
Like a shroud it covers Bleecker Street
Fills the alleys where men sleep
Hides the shepherd from the sheep

Voices leaking from a sad cafe
Smiling faces try to understand
I saw a shadow touch a shadow's hand
On Bleecker Street

The poet reads his crooked rhyme
Holy, holy is his sacrament
Thirty dollars pays your rent
On Bleecker Street

I head a church bell softly chime
In a melody sustainin'
It's a long road to Caanan
On Bleecker Street

From Wednesday Morning, 3AM (1964)
Copyright © E. B. Marks Music Corp. (BMI)

Sparrow (1963)
By Paul Simon

Who will love a little Sparrow
Who's traveled far and cries for rest?
"Not I," said the Oak Tree,
"I won't share my branches with no sparrow's nest,
And my blanket of leaves won't warm her cold breast."

Who will love a little Sparrow?
And who will speak a kindly word?
"Not I," said the Swan,
"The entire idea is utterly absurd,
I'd be laughed at and scorned if the other Swans heard."

And who will take pity in his heart?
And who will feed a starving sparrow?
"Not I," said the Golden Wheat,
"I would if I could but I cannot I know,
I need all my grain to prosper and grow."

Who will love a little Sparrow?
Will no one write her eulogy?
"I will," said the Earth,
"For all I've created returns unto me,
From dust were ye made and dust ye shall be."

From Wednesday Morning, 3AM (1964)
Copyright © Duchess Music Corp. (BMI)

Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. (1964)
By Paul Simon

I can hear the soft breathing
Of the girl that I love,
As she lies here beside me
Asleep with the night,
And her hair, in a fine mist
Floats on my pillow,
Reflecting the glow
Of the winter moonlight.

She is soft, she is warm,
But my heart remains heavy,
And I watch as her breasts
Gently rise, gently fall,
For I know with the first light of dawn
I'll be leaving,
And tonight will be
All I have left to recall.

Oh, what have I done,
Why have I done it,
I've committed a crime,
Broken the law.
For twenty-five dollars
And pieces of silver,
I held up and robbed
A hard liquor store.

My life seems unreal,
My crime an illusion,
A scene badly written
In which I must play.
Yet I know as I gaze
At my young love beside me,
The morning is just
A few hours away.

From Wednesday Morning, 3AM (1964)
Copyright © Landis Music (BMI)

Cloudy (1966)
By Paul Simon

Cloudy
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 rag-a-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 borders, no boundaries
They echo and they swell
From Tolstoy to Tinker Bell
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're going, and, my friend, neither do I

Cloudy

From Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme (1966)
Copyright © Paul Simon

Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall (1965)
By Paul Simon

Through the corridors of sleep
Past the shadows dark and deep
My mind dances and leaps in confusion.
I don't know what is real,
I can't touch what I feel
And I hide behind the shield of my illusion.

So I'll continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end,
And flowers never bend
With the rainfall.

The mirror on my wall
Casts an image dark and small
But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection.
I am blinded by the light
Of God and truth and right
And I wander in the night without direction.

So I'll continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end,
And flowers never bend
With the rainfall.

It's no matter if you're born
To play the King or pawn
For the line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow,
So my fantasy
Becomes reality,
And I must be what I must be and face tomorrow.

So I'll continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end,
And flowers never bend
With the rainfall.

From Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme (1966)
Copyright © Paul Simon