[Verse 1] Nineteen sixty-seven, where the black spruce grows, Scott Mercer hauled pulpwood down those long Maine roads. Friendly kind of fella, always quick to lend a hand, Coffee at the counter, called you "friend" and "sir" and "ma'am." Drove a '65 Rambler, rust was eating up the chrome, Red shovel in the trunk beneath a blanket headed home. [Chorus] So if a friendly stranger stops And says he knows the way, Remember Scott Mercer On some cold November day. Some men smile and help you, Some men hide behind the act— Scott called it just an itching, And sooner or later had to scratch. [Verse 2] Scott could haul from dawn till supper, leave a hundred miles behind, But after dark the itching started crawling through his mind. Never called it evil, never bothered with a name, Just grabbed his coat and started the Rambler in the rain. Maybe someone's thumb was showing by the county line, Maybe someone's motor quit beneath a roadside sign. [Verse 3] First one was a traveler, nobody knew his name, Second had a mother down in Portland who still waited just the same. Five became six, then seven disappeared without a trace, Missing posters curled and yellowed in some diner window space. Eight, nine, ten—the papers never tied them to the past, Scott Mercer never wondered if it would last [Chorus] So if a friendly stranger stops And says he knows the way, Remember Scott Mercer On some cold November day. Some men smile and help you, Some men hide behind the act— Scott called it just an itching, And sooner or later had to scratch. [Verse 4] Forty acres northward where the old stone fences lay, Alder, pine, and logging trails that slowly washed away. Nobody had reason to go wandering out that side, Except for Scott on certain nights beneath a moonless sky. Morning found him at the diner, smiling through the steam, Talking roads and weather like the man he'd always seemed. [Verse 5] Number eleven changed it, just a little thing went wrong, A waitress saw the Rambler and remembered before long. Said the missing man climbed in it near the county line at ten, Deputy Harris read the statement, then he read the thing again. He was his brother-in-law and prayed the facts were thin, But every road he followed only circled back to him. [Bridge] Eleven empty bedrooms, Eleven families waiting, Eleven names in county files That no one was relating. One rusty car, One patch of land, One "ordinary" man— And one itch he couldn't stand. [Verse 6] County men came early through a hard November rain, Found the Rambler by the barn and Scott behind the windowpane. He took his old deer rifle, disappeared among the trees, Harris called, "Come out now, Scott—don't make me do this, please." a rifle cracked the timber, Harris fired his answer back, Scott Mercer fell upon the ground where eleven times he'd scratched. [Final Chorus] So if a friendly stranger stops And offers you a ride, Remember Scott Mercer And the things a smile can hide. Not every helping hand is clean, Not every kindness lasts— Sometimes danger waves you closer While the red shovel rides out back. [Outro] They hauled the Rambler into town beneath a morning gray, Tagged the faded red shovel and locked them both away. Folks still tell the story when the cold wind hits the pines— Scott Mercer seemed a friendly man Right up until the itching time.
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