Simon Armitage - Hitcher lyrics

I'd been tired, under the weather, but the ansaphone kept screaming: One more sick-note, mister, and you're finished. Fired. I thumbed a lift to where the car was parked. A Vauxhall Astra. It was hired. I picked him up in Leeds. He was following the sun from west to east with just a toothbrush and the good earth for a bed. The truth, he said, was blowin' in the wind, or round the next bend. I let him have it on the top road out of Harrogate - once with the head, then six times with the krooklok in the face - and didn't even swerve. I dropped it into third and leant across to let him out, and saw him in the mirror bouncing off the kerb, then disappearing down the verge. We were the same age, give or take a week. He'd said he liked the breeze to run its fingers through his hair. It was twelve noon. The outlook for the day was moderate to fair. Stitch that, I remember thinking, you can walk from there.