Harry Chapin (1942 – 1981)
American singer, songwriter, and social activist.
If we say that no one's out there
And we say we're goin' nowhere
And we avoid the question
Is this all that it means?
I never really drove a cab, but I do have a hack license in case of emergencies – like no money.
We were the kids that made America famous.
The kind of kids that long since drove our parents to dispair.
We were lazy long hairs dropping out, lost confused, and copping out.
Convinced our futures were in doubt and trying not to care.
I was quite surprised to find out all the places that he knew
And so I asked the townfolk if his stories were true
They said— Old John was born here, he's lived here all his life
He's never had a woman, let alone a wife.
And very soon you'll find out as you check around
That no one named Corey's ever lived in this town
So I chided the old man 'bout the truth that I had heard
He smiled and said— Reality is only just a word.
The major thing I'm afraid of is being 65 and saying, 'Gee, I wish I had done this and that, and that.' I want to face old age knowing I've tried all I wanted to try.
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?
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 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.
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."
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.
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.
She was married for seven years
to a concrete castle king.
She said she wanted to learn to play the guitar
and to hear her children sing.
So I'd show up about once a week
in my faded tight-legged jeans
with a backlog full of hobo stories
and dilapidated dreams.
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.
The waitress took a bar rag, and she wiped it across her eyes.
And as she spoke her voice came out as something like a sigh.
She said "I wish that I was beautiful, or that you were halfway blind.
And I wish I weren't so dog-gone fat, I wish that you were mine.
And I wish that you'd come with me, when I leave for home.
For we both know all about loneliness, and livin' all alone."
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
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.
Something's burning somewhere. Does anybody care?
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 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.