| D | |
| Cl | oudy, |
| G | |
| The sky is grey and white and clou | dy. |
| D | F#7 | Ddim | |
| Sometimes I think it's hanging d | own | on m | e. |
| A | F#7 | |
| I | t's hitch-hike a hundred m | iles. |
| A | Bm | |
| I'm a | rag-a-muffin c | hild. |
| E | |
| P | ointed finger, painted smile. |
| A | A7 | |
| I le | ft my shadow waiting down the | road for me a while. |
| D | |
| Cl | oudy, |
| G | |
| My thoughts are scattered and they're clou | dy. |
| D | F#7 | Ddim | |
| They have no borders, | no b | oundar | ies. |
| A | F#7 | |
| T | hey echo and they s | well, |
| A | Bm | |
| From Tol | stoy to Tinker | bell, |
| E | |
| D | own from Berkeley to Carmel. |
| A | A7 | |
| Got | some pictures in my pocket and a | lot of time to kill. |
| D | |
| Hey, Su | nshine-- |
| G | |
| I haven't seen you in a l | ong time. |
| D | F#7 | Ddim | |
| Why don't you show your face and be | nd | my m | ind? |
| A | F#7 | |
| Th | ese clouds stick to the s | ky, |
| A | Bm | |
| Like a fl | oating question, | why? |
| E | |
| A | nd they linger there to die. |
| A | A7 | |
| They don't know where they're going, and my | friend, neither do I. |
| D | G | D | G | |
| Clo | udy, Cl | oudy, Clo | udy, | Cloudy. |