Everyone's a guitar plucker in Woodstock.
Poet, actor, dancer or former king.
Searching souls strumming in swimming holes,
down by the Old Mill Stream.

I have come to live here,
snuggled into the fertile valley,
embraced by Overlook Mountain,
family seeking peace.

On this quiet evening,
the music that I love,
whispers through the darkness,
echoes voices of change.

Everyone's a guitar plucker in Woodstock.
Supervisor, teacher, police and fire chief.
Searching souls jamming beneath street lamp poles,
down on the Tinker Street Green.

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