ISP 1510 & ISP 350

(Moti Nissani)

 

Lyrics of Class Songs

 

Table of Contents:

The Green Fields of France (Willie McBride)

Cat's in the Cradle

The Dutchman

Hobo’s lullaby

Imagine

Las Golondrinas (The Swallows—an English translation)

Last Train 

Lives in the Balance

The Mary Ellen Carter

One Piece at a Time

PRETTY BOY FLOYD

Mr. Ryan

I Did it Their Way

Those were the Days

When I’m Gone

 

The Green Fields of France

(Willie McBride)

by Eric Bogle

 

Well, how do you do, private Willie McBride?

Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?

And I rest for a while in the warm summer sun

I've been working all day long and I'm nearly done.

And I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen,

When you joined the glorious fallen in nineteen sixteen,

Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,

Or Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

 

Chorus:

            Did they beat the drum slowly, did they sound the fife lowly?

            Did the rifles fire o’er ye as they lowered you down?

            Did the bugle sing the last post in chorus?

            Did the pipes play the muse of the forest?

 

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?

In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?

And though you died back in nineteen sixteen,

To that loyal heart are you forever nineteen?

Or are you a stranger without even a name,

Forever enshrined behind some glass frame,

In an old photograph torn and tattered and stained,

And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?

 

Well the sun's shining now on these green fields of France,

The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance,

The trenches have vanished long under the plough,

No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now.

But here in this graveyard it's still no man's land,

The countless white crosses mutely they stand

To man's blind indifference to his fellow man

And the whole generation who were butchered and damned.

 

And I can't help but wonder now Willie McBride:

Do all those who lie here know why they died?

Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?

Did you really believe that this war would end wars?

Well, the suffering, the sorrows, the glory, the shame,

The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain;

For Willie McBride it all happened again,

And again, and again, and again, and again.

 

 

Cat's in the Cradle

Music: Harry Chapin

Sandra Chapin

My child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay,
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad,
You know I'm gonna be like you."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then;
You know we'll have a good time then."

My son turned ten just the other day.
He said, "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play.
Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today,
I got a lot to do." He said, "That's OK"
And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed,
Said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah.
You know I'm gonna be like him."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then,
You know we'll have a good time then."

Well, he came from college just the other day,
So much like a man I just had to say,
"Son, I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head, and said with a smile,
"What I'd really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys.
See you later. Can I have them please?"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad,
You know we'll have a good time then."

I've long since retired and my son's moved away.
I called him up just the other day.
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind."
He said, "I'd love to, dad, if I could find the time.
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kid's got the flu,
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad,
It's been sure nice talking to you."
And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He'd grown up just like me;
My boy was just like me.

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad,
You know we'll have a good time then."

_____

dim: grow less bright, strong, clear, or optimistic, e.g.,  1. dim the theater lights, 2. the years could not dim his early love

 

The Dutchman

Michael Peter Smith
 
 The Dutchman's not the kind of man
 Who keeps his thumb jammed in the dam
 That holds his dreams in. 
 That's a secret only Margaret knows.
 When Amsterdam is golden in the summer,

Margaret brings him breakfast;
 She believes in him.
 He thinks the tulips bloom beneath the snow
 He's mad as he can be, but Margaret only sees that sometimes
 Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes.
 
 (Chorus:)
 Let us go to the banks of the ocean
 Where the walls rise above the Zeider Zee
 Long ago, I used to be a young man
 And dear Margaret remembers that of me
  
 The Dutchman still wears wooden shoes
 And his cap and coat are patched with
 The love that Margaret sewed there.
 Sometimes he thinks he's still in Rotterdam
 He watches tugboats, down canals
 And calls out to them when he thinks
 He knows the captain

 'Til Margaret comes to take him home again
 Through unforgiving streets that trip him
 Though she holds his arm
 Sometimes he thinks that he's alone
 And calls her name.
 
 (Chorus)
 
 The windmills swirl the winter in
 She winds his muffler tighter as they sit in the kitchen
 Some tea with whiskey keeps away the dew 
 He sees her for a moment, calls her name
 She makes the bed up singing some old love song
 She learned when it was very new
 He hums a line or two, they hum together in the dark
 The Dutchman falls asleep and Margaret blows the candle out.
 
 (Chorus)
 

“keeps his thumb jam in the dam:” The allusion here is to the famous story of a boy who saved a part of his country from flooding (Netherlands means low lands), by jamming a hole in a dam with his thumb.

Zeider Zee: Formerly part of the sea, turned into usable land and a fresh water lake by the construction of a dyke

Note: Windmills, wooden shoes, Roterdam, tulips, Zeider Zee are all used to evoke a Dutch atmosphere

Hobo's Lullaby

Goebel Reeves

Go to sleep you weary hobo

Let the towns drift slowly by

Can't you hear the steel rails humming?

That's a hobo's lullaby

Do not think about tomorrow

Let tomorrow come and go

Tonight you're in a nice warm boxcar

Safe from all the wind and snow

I know the police cause you trouble

They cause trouble everywhere

But when you die and go to heaven

You will find no policemen there

I know your clothes are torn and ragged

And your hair is turning grey

Lift your head and smile at trouble

You'll find peace and rest some day

So go to sleep you weary hobo

Let the towns drift slowly by

Don't you feel the steel rails humming?

That's a hobo's lullaby

During the great depression and later, men who lost their jobs, migrant workers, vagrants, tramps, and homeless people moved across the USA by stowing away in railroad cars 

 

 

Imagine

John Lennon
 
 Imagine there’s no heaven
 It’s easy if you try
 No hell below us
 Above us, only sky
 Imagine all the people
 Living for today--

 

Imagine there's no country

It isn't hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion too

Imagine all the people

Living life in peace

 

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope some day you'll join us

And the world will be as one

 

Imagine no possessions

I wonder if you can

No need for greed or hunger

Or brotherhood of man

Imagine all the people

Sharing all the world

 

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope some day you'll join us

And the world will live as one

 

 

Las Golondrinas (English version follows)

Vinieron en tardes serenas de estío, 
cruzando los aires en vuelo veloz, 
y en tibios aleros formaron sus nidos, 
sus nidos formaron, piando de amor.

Que blancos sus pechos, sus alas que bellas, 
que bellas sus allas formadas en cruz 
y como alegraban las tardes aquellas, 
las tardes aquellas bañadas de luz.

Así en la mañana jovial de mi vida, 
Vinieron las alas de la juventud, 
amores y ensueños como golondrinas, 
como golondrinas bañadas de luz

Mas vino el invierno y su rafágas frias, 
la rubia mañana llorosa se fué
se fueron los sueños y las golondrinas
y las golondrinas se fueron también.

 

 

The Swallows

 

 Lyrics: Luis Rosado Vega

Music: Ricardo Palmerin

Freewheeling translation:  Moti Nissani

 

They arrived in the summer’s quiet afternoons

Crisscrossing the air in swift flights,

Building their nests under cozy eaves,

Building their nests and chirping of love.

 

How white were their chests, how lovely their wings

How lovely their wings shaped like a cross

How they brightened those afternoons,

Those afternoons bathed in light.

 

Thus in the cheerful morning of my life

My wings of youth came with

Loves and fantasies as flighty as swallows which were

Like swallows, bathed in light

 

Then came the winter and its chilling gusts of wind,

The fair morning left in tears, 

The dreams and the swallows departed, 

And the swallows departed as well.

 

 

Last Train

Album: Best Of Arlo Gunthrie

 

I want to hop on the last train in the station

Won't need to get yourself prepared

When you're on that last train to glory

You'll know you're reasonably there.

 

Maybe you ain't walked on any highway

You've just been flyin' in the air

But if you're on that last train to glory

You'll know you've paid your fare.

 

Maybe you've been lying down in the jailhouse

Maybe you've been hungry and poor

Maybe your ticket on the last train to glory

Is the stranger whose been sleeping on your floor.

 

I ain't a man of constant sorrow

I ain't seen trouble all day long

We are only passengers on the last train to glory

That will soon be long, long gone.

 

I want to hop on the last train in the station

Won't need to get yourself prepared

When you're on the last train to glory

You'll know you're reasonably there,

 

Lives in the Balance

Jackson Browne

 

I've been waiting for something to happen

For a week or a month or a year,

With the blood in the ink of the headlines

And the sound of the crowd in my ears.

 

You might ask what it takes to remember

When you know that you've seen it before

Where a government lies to a people

And a country is drifting to war.

 

There is a shadow on the faces

Of the men who send the guns

To the wars that are fought in places

Where their business interests run.

 

On the radio, talk shows, and TV,

You hear one thing again and again;

How the USA stands for freedom

And we come to the aid of a friend.

 

But who are the ones that we call our friends?

These governments killing their own?

Or the people who finally can't take any more,

And they pick up a gun or a brick or a stone?

 

CHORUS

And there are lives in the balance;

There are people under fire;

There are children at the cannons;

And there is blood on the wire.

 

There is a shadow on the faces

Of the men who send the planes

Of the wars that are fought in places

We can't even say the names.

 

They sell us the President the same way

They sell us our clothes and our cars.

They sell us everything from youth to religion

The same time they sell us our wars.

 

I want to know who the men in the shadows are;

I want hear somebody asking them why

They can be counted on to tell us who our enemies are

But they're never the ones to fight or to die.

 

CHORUS

 

THE MARY ELLEN CARTER
(Stan Rogers)

She went down last October in a pouring driving rain.
The skipper, he'd been drinking and the mate, he felt no pain.
Too close to Three Mile Rock, and she was dealt her mortal blow,
And the Mary Ellen Carter settled low.
There were five of us aboard her when she finally was awash.
We'd worked like hell to save her, all heedless of the cost.
And the groan she gave as she went down, it caused us to proclaim
That the Mary Ellen Carter would rise again.

Well, the owners wrote her off; not a nickel would they spend.
She gave twenty years of service, boys, then met her sorry end.
But insurance paid the loss to them, they let her rest below.
Then they laughed at us and said we had to go.
But we talked of her all winter, some days around the clock,
For she's worth a quarter million, afloat and at the dock.
And with every jar that hit the bar, we swore we would remain
And make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again.

Rise again, rise again, that her name not be lost
To the knowledge of men.
Those who loved her best and were with her till the end
Will make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again.

All spring, now, we've been with her on a barge lent by a friend.
Three dives a day in hard hat suit and twice I've had the bends.
Thank God it's only sixty feet and the currents here are slow
Or I'd never have the strength to go below.

But we've patched her rents, stopped her vents, dogged hatch and
porthole down.
Put cables to her, 'fore and aft and birded her around.
Tomorrow, noon, we hit the air and then take up the strain.
And watch the Mary Ellen Carter Rise Again.

For we couldn't leave her there, you see, to crumble into scale.
She'd saved our lives so many times, living through the gale
And the laughing, drunken rats who left her to a sorry grave
They won't be laughing in another day. . .
And you, to whom adversity has dealt the final blow
With smiling bastards lying to you everywhere you go
Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain
And like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again.

 The bends: A serious health hazard associated with scuba and deep diving: when a diver ascends, the excess air dissolved in her blood during a prolonged stay in deep waters may form bubbles, cause embolism in various parts of the body, and lead to severe pain (“the bends) when it reaches muscles and joints

 Mary Ellen Carter, rise agai

 

ONE PIECE AT A TIME

Johnny Cash
 
 Well, I left Kentucky back in '49
 An' went to Detroit workin' on a 'sembly line
 The first year they had me puttin' wheels on Cadillacs
 Every day I'd watch them beauties roll by
 And sometimes I'd hang my head and cry
 'Cause I always wanted me one that was long and black.
 
 One day I devised myself a plan
 That should be the envy of most any man
 I'd sneak it out of there in a lunchbox in my hand
 Now gettin' caught meant gettin' fired
 But I figured I'd have it all by the time I retired
 I'd have me a car worth at least a hundred grand.
 
 CHORUS
 I'd get it one piece at a time
 And it wouldn't cost me a dime
 You'll know it's me when I come through your town
 I'm gonna ride around in style
 I'm gonna drive everybody wild
 'Cause I'll have the only one there is a round.
 
 So the very next day when I punched in
 With my big lunchbox and with help from my friends
 I left that day with a lunch box full of gears
 Now, I never considered myself a thief
 GM wouldn't miss just one little piece
 Especially if I strung it out over several years.
 
 The first day I got me a fuel pump
 And the next day I got me an engine and a trunk
 Then I got me a transmission and all of the chrome
 The little things I could get in my big lunchbox
 Like nuts, an' bolts, and all four shocks
 But the big stuff we snuck out in my buddy's mobile home.
 
 Now, up to now my plan went all right
 'Til we tried to put it all together one night
 And that's when we noticed that something was definitely wrong.
 The transmission was a '53
 And the motor turned out to be a '73
 And when we tried to put in the bolts all the holes were gone.
 
 So we drilled it out so that it would fit
 And with a little bit of help with an Adaptor kit
 We had that engine runnin' just like a song
 Now the headlight' was another sight
 We had two on the left and one on the right
 But when we pulled out the switch all three of 'em came on.
 
 The back end looked kinda funny too
 But we put it together and when we got thru
 Well, that's when we noticed that we only had one tail-fin
 About that time my wife walked out
 And I could see in her eyes that she had her doubts
 But she opened the door and said "Honey, take me for a spin."
 
 So we drove up town just to get the tags
 And I headed her right on down main drag
 I could hear everybody laughin' for blocks around
 But up there at the courthouse they didn't laugh
 'Cause to type it up it took the whole staff
 And when they got through the title weighed sixty pounds.
 
 CHORUS
 I got it one piece at a time
 And it didn't cost me a dime
 You'll know it's me when I come through your town
 I'm gonna ride around in style
 I'm gonna drive everybody wild
 'Cause I'll have the only one there is around.
 
 (Spoken) Ugh! Yow, RED RYDER
 This is the COTTON MOUTH
 In the PSYCHO-BILLY CADILLAC Come on
 Huh, This is the COTTON MOUTH
 And negatory on the cost of this mow-chine there RED RYDER
 You might say I went right up to the factory
 And picked it up, it's cheaper that way
 Ugh!, what model is it?
 
 Well, It's a '49, '50, '51, '52, '53, '54, '55, '56
 '57, '58' 59' automobile
 It's a '60, '61, '62, '63, '64, '65, '66, '67
 '68, '69, '70 automobile.

 

PRETTY BOY FLOYD

Woody Guthrie, 1939

If you'll gather 'round me, children,
A story I will tell
'Bout Pretty Boy Floyd, an outlaw,
Oklahoma knew him well.

It was in the town of Shawnee,
A Saturday afternoon,
His wife beside him in his wagon
As into town they rode.

There a deputy sheriff approached him
In a manner rather rude,
Vulgar words of anger,
An' his wife she overheard.

Pretty Boy grabbed a log chain,
And the deputy grabbed his gun;
In the fight that followed
He laid that deputy down.

Then he took to the trees and timber
To live a life of shame;
Every crime in Oklahoma
Was added to his name.

But many starving farmers
The same old story told
How the outlaw paid their mortgage
And saved their little homes.

Others tell you 'bout a stranger
That came to beg a meal,
Underneath his napkin
Left a thousand dollar bill.

It was in Oklahoma City,
It was on a Christmas Day,
There was a whole carload of groceries
Come with a note to say:

“Well, you say that I'm an outlaw,
You say that I'm a thief.
Here's a Christmas dinner
For the families on relief.”

Yes, as through this world I've wandered
I've seen lots of funny men;
Some will rob you with a six-gun,
And some with a fountain pen.

And as through your life you travel,
Yes, as through your life you roam,
You won't ever see an outlaw
Drive a family from their home.

Notes:  Here is the establishment’s (Time Magazine, October 22, 1934—if you never thought about it, Time and every other mass circulation magazine and newspaper in the USA belongs to billionaires, who in almost every case, made their fortune thinking nothing of charity, nothing of driving “a family from their home.”  As far as they are concerned, the Robin Hoods of this world pose a much greater threat to their wealth and power than the Boston Strangler.  A Robin Hood—and any real practicing Christian and Buddhist—exposes the injustice of our system, as well as the narrow outlook, thoughtless lifestyle, and shaky morality of the Windsors, Kennedys, Melons, Rockefellers, and Gates).  Anyway, here’s Time’s version of  Floyd’s life:

 

Born 30 years ago on a Georgia farm, "Pretty Boy" Floyd moved with his parents at an early age to the Cookson Hills District of the Oklahoma Ozarks. There he got the nickname of "Choc" and a bad reputation. At 18 he robbed a neighborhood post-office of $350 in pennies.
A three-year apprenticeship in the St. Louis underworld landed him, in 1925, in Missouri Penitentiary for a payroll robbery. There he peddled drugs, struck down guards, and met "Red" Lovett, who teamed up with him on his release in 1929.
For the next four years he robbed rural banks, taking on new partners as his old ones fell dead by the wayside. Whenever pursuit got too close, he retired to the Cookson Hills where he reputedly keeps a string of mountaineers in funds in exchange for their close-mouthed hospitality. A murderously cool shot, his trigger finger has already accounted for at least six deaths. Fond of flashy clothes, he likes to show his bravado by returning to his home town, Sallisaw, Okla., for brief visits. He is wanted by the Federal Government for two murders, two mail robberies.

Less than 24 hours after Federal agents announced that Floyd was wanted as one of the Union Station killers, he was flushed out of an Iowa farm by two peace officers. In his first brush with authority this year, he showed that he had lost none of his finesse. Jumping into a car with two companions, he led the police on a wild chase to an empty house at the dead end of a road. There he turned on them with a machine gun and automatic rifles, shot his way out and away.

 

 

Thank you Mr. Ryan

David Roth

 

The first time that I heard that song was a time I well remember

It all goes back some 20 years to Mr. Ryan’s classroom

One day he brought his old guitar and sang his favorite songs for us

And the single one that I remember most was “All My Trials”

 

Something in his simple singing touched my very sixth-grade soul

The harmonies he taught us are the ones that I still know today

The verse about the Tree of Life was wondrous to a 12-year old

And many times these twenty years I’ve wished that I could say

 

CHORUS:

Thank you for the music Mr. Ryan

The simple gift you gave that day is one I’ve treasured dearly

I’ll always see you sitting up there singing “All My Trials”

You’ll never know how much it’s meant to me

 

I went home to see my folks in June, the town that I grew up in

Three of us were sitting in the kitchen having coffee

I mentioned Mr. Ryan, how I wondered what became of him

Mother said she’d hear that he’s still working at my school

 

I grabbed my coat and ran outside, retracing old familiar routes

The shortcut through the playground and the echo of that hallway

And there he was in Room Eleven, wiping off the blackboard

I took a breath and cleared my throat and stepped back into time

 

CHORUS

 

We sat and talked for quite a while, I don’t think that he remembered me

But I told him of my work and where I’ve been and what I’ve done

And finally he leaned back and said “It’s amazing that you come today

Just last night my mother and I were talking until one”

 

“She asked me was I happy, I said ‘yes, I love my teaching

But I’m sad I never married, that I never fathered children . . .’

‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘oh yes, my son, you’ve fathered several hundred . . .’

And now I look across my cluttered desk, and here you’ve come”

 

“Thank you for the visit, my dear child

The simple gift you gave today is one I’ll treasure dearly

I’ll always see you sitting up there filling in these 20 years

You’ll never know how much it’s meant to me”

 

 

Wondrous:: exciting wonder or surprise: wonderful, astonishing, marvelous, e.g., 1. a wondrous fairy tale; 2. wondrous ways to kill bacteria

 

I DID IT THEIR WAY

Bob Blue

I came with all my books, lived in dorms, followed directions.

I worked, I studied hard, met lots of folks who had connections.

I crammed, they gave me grades, and may I say not in a fair way.

But more, much more than this, I did it their way.

I learned all sorts of things, although I know I'll never use them.

The courses that I took were all required, I didn't choose them.

You'll find that to survive it's best to act the doctrinaire way.

And so I buckled down and did it their way.

 

Yes, there were times I wondered why

I had to crawl when I could fly.

I had my doubts, but after all,

I clipped my wings, and learned to crawl.

I had to bend, and in the end

I did it their way.

 

And so, my fine young friends, now that I'm a full professor

Where once I was oppressed, now I've become the cruel oppressor.

With me you'll learn to cope, you'll learn to climb life's golden stairway.

 

What can I do?  What can I do?

Open your books.  Read chapter two.

And if it seems a bit routine,

Don't come to me, go see the dean.

As long as they give me my pay

I'll do it their way.

 

Doctrinaire:  Stubbornly devoted to some particular doctrine or theory without regard to practical considerations: dogmatic (Webster’s).

 

 

Those Were The Days, My Friend

 

Once upon a time there was a tavern
 Where we used to raise a glass or two
 Remember how we laughed away the hours
 And thought of all the great things we would do
 
 Chorus:
  Those were the days, my friend
 We thought they'd never end
 We'd sing and dance forever and a day
 We'd live the life we choose
 We'd fight and never lose
 For we were young and sure to have our way
 La la la la la la
 La la la la la la
 
 Then the busy years went rushing by us
 We lost our starry notions on the way
 If by chance I'd see you in the tavern
 We'd smile at one another and we'd say
 
 Those were the days, my friend
 We thought they'd never end
 We'd sing and dance forever and a day
 We'd live the life we choose
 We'd fight and never lose
 Those were the days
 Oh, yes, those were the days
 La la la la la la
 La la la la la la
 
 Just tonight I stood before the tavern
 Nothing seemed the way it used to be
 In the glass I saw a strange reflection
 Was that lonely woman really me?
 
 Those were the days, my friend
 We thought they'd never end
 We'd sing and dance forever and a day
 We'd live the life we choose
 We'd fight and never lose
 Those were the days
 Oh, yes, those were the days
 La la la la la la
 La la la la la la
 
 Through the door there came familiar laughter
 I saw your face and heard you call my name
 Oh, my friend, we're older but no wiser
 For in our hearts the dreams are still the same...
 
 Those were the days, my friend
 We thought they'd never end
 We'd sing and dance forever and a day
 We'd live the life we choose
 We'd fight and never lose
 Those were the days
 Oh, yes, those were the days
 La la la la la la
 La la la la la la

WHEN I'M GONE

Phil Ochs

 

There's no place in this world where I'll belong when I'm gone

And I won't know the right from the wrong when I'm gone

And you won't find me singin' on this song when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

 

And I won't feel the flowing of the time when I'm gone

All the pleasures of love will not be mine when I'm gone

My pen won't pour a lyric line when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

 

And I won't breathe the bracing air when I'm gone

And I can't even worry 'bout my cares when I'm gone

Won't be asked to do my share when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

 

And I won't be running from the rain when I'm gone

And I can't even suffer from the pain when I'm gone

Can't say who's to praise and who's to blame when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

 

Won't see the golden of the sun when I'm gone

And the evenings and the mornings will be one when I'm gone

Can't be singing louder than the guns when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

 

All my days won't be dances of delight when I'm gone

And the sands won’t be shifting from my sight when I'm gone

Can't add my name into the fight while I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

 

And I won't be laughing at the lies when I'm gone

And I can't question how or when or why when I'm gone

Can't live proud enough to die when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here

 

There's no place in this world where I'll belong when I'm gone

And I won't know the right from the wrong when I'm gone

And you won't find me singin' on this song when I'm gone

So I guess I'll have to do it

I guess I'll have to do it

Guess I'll have to do it

 While I'm here

 

 

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