Harry Chapin (1942 – 1981)
American singer, songwriter, and social activist.
And she said...
"Flowers are red young man
Green leaves are green
There's no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen."
I went to sleep with the hope that made America famous.
I had the kind of a dream that maybe they're still trying to teach in school.
Of the America that made America famous...and
Of the people who just might understand
That how together yes we can
Create a country better than
The one we have made of this land,
We have a choice to make each man
who dares to dream, reaching out his hand
A prophet or just a crazy God damn
Dreamer of a fool
Step right up young lady
Your two hundred birthdays make you old if not senile
And we see the symptoms there in your rigor mortis smile
With your old folks eating dog food and your children eating paint
While the pirates own the flag and sell us sermons on restraint.
Oh all the times I've listened, and all the times I've heard
All the melodies I'm missing, and all the magic words,
And all those potent voices, and the choices we had then,
How I'd love to find we had that kind of choice again.
But the little boy said...
"There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flowers and I see every one."
And she walked away in silence,
It's strange, how you never know,
But we'd both gotten what we'd asked for,
Such a long, long time ago.
And all the trips you know you missed
And all the lips you never kissed
Cut through you like a knife.
And now you see stretched out before thee
Just another story of a life.
And I know you're frightened
By my laughter
But you're not afraid
To hold my pain
You see I'm never sure
Just what you're after, Babe
But it seems you only love me
When it rains.
How come you only love me when it rains?
I guess it's a sequel to our story
From the journey 'tween heaven and hell
With half the time thinking of what might have been
and half thinkin' just as well.
I guess only time will tell.
Something's burning somewhere. Does anybody care?
If you try to look
But you don't touch
Then you won't touch
But you'll never feel
And if you don't feel
You'll never cry
And if you don't cry
Then you'll never heal.
I come fresh from the street,
fast on my feet, kind a lean and lazy;
not much meat on my bones, and a whole lot alone,
and more than a little bit crazy.
The old six string was all I had
to keep my belly still,
and for each full hour lesson I gave
I got a crisp ten dollar bill.
And the wind will whip your tousled hair,
The sun, the rain, the sweet despair,
Great tales of love and strife.
And somewhere on your path to glory
You will write your story of a life.
He was dancing to some music
No one else had ever heard
He'd speak in unknown languages
She would translate every word
And then when the world was laughing
At his castles in the sky
She'd hold him in her body
Till he once again could fly.
It was the town that made America famous.
The churches full and the kids all gone to hell.
Six traffic lights and seven cops and all the streets kept clean.
The supermarket and the drug store and the bars all doing well.
You see, I have no real complaints of how you've left your past behind
I guess what gets me worried is you've erased him from your mind.
Remember when the music
Came from wooden boxes strung with silver wire
And as we sang the words, it would set our minds on fire,
For we believed in things, and so we'd sing.
Hello my Country
I once came to tell everyone your story
Your passion was my poetry
And your past my most potent glory
Your promise was my prayer
Your hypocrisy my nightmare
And your problems fill my present
Are we both going somewhere?
He was a young driver,
just out on his second job.
And he was carrying the next day's pasty fruits
for everyone in that coal-scarred city
where children play without despair
in backyard slag-piles and folks manage to eat each day
about thirty thousand pounds of bananas...
The Mayor of Candor lied
When he offered me his only daughter
The Mayor of Candor tried
To take her off across the water
What a thing to do to a young man in love
What a thing to do to your daughter.