And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldn't play.
And in the streets the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.
And they were singing
"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie."
Drove my Chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whisky and rye,
Singin' "This'll be the day that I die.
This'll be the day that I die."
( The day the music died... fifty years ago tonight... )