Pete Seeger
U S musician, political activist, and author; usually known as Pete Seeger.
Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone?
Young girls have picked them everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
A good song can only do good, and I am proud of the songs I have sung. I hope to be able to continue singing these songs for all who want to listen, Republicans, Democrats, and independents.
We'll walk hand in hand
We'll walk hand in hand
We'll walk hand in hand some day...
The whole wide world around some day.
If I've got a talent, it's for picking the right song at the right time for the right audience. And I can always seem to get people to sing with me.
The world will be saved by people fighting for their homes.
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of peace... I swear it's not too late.
At the audition, your assignment is to find something new in the song. Something you've never noticed before. A breath carried over, a thought that ties the whole thing together. Then take the risk and do it.
There's no hope, but I may be wrong.
I like to say I'm more conservative than Goldwater. He just wanted to turn the clock back to when there was no income tax. I want to turn the clock back to when people lived in small villages and took care of each other.
One blue sky above us
One ocean lapping all our shore
One earth so green and round
Who could ask for more
And because I love you
I'll give it one more try
To show my rainbow race
It's too soon to die.
To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose under heaven.
If I had a hammer,
I'd hammer in the morning
I'd hammer in the evening,
All over this land.
I'd hammer out danger,
I'd hammer out a warning,
I'd hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters,
All over this land...
Well I got a hammer,
And I got a bell,
And I got a song to sing, all over this land.
It's the hammer of Justice,
It's the bell of Freedom,
It's the song about Love between my brothers and my sisters,
All over this land.
Every time I read the paper those old feelings come on.
We are waist deep in the Big Muddy and the big fool says to push on.
"So, are you going to practice today?" asks my inner mom.
"Well, sure. But I've got one more phone call to make. The dishes are dirty. I have to feed the cat."
I don't hate practicing. I resist it. The goddess of procrastination can seduce me by lifting one eyebrow. After decades of practicing or avoiding the same, walking over to the piano remains the hardest part.
I have been singing folksongs of America and other lands to people everywhere. I am proud that I never refused to sing to any group of people because I might disagree with some of the ideas of some of the people listening to me. I have sung for rich and poor, for Americans of every possible political and religious opinion and persuasion, of every race, color, and creed. The House committee wished to pillory me because it didn’t like some few of the many thousands of places I have sung for.
This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.
A productive mistake is: (1) made in the service of mission and vision; (2) acknowledged as a mistake; (3) learned from; (4) considered valuable; (5) shared for the benefit of all.
Shh. Listen to the sounds that surround you. Notice the pitches, the volume, the timbre, the many lines of counterpoint. As light taught Monet to paint, the earth may be teaching you music.
The easiest way to avoid wrong notes is to never open your mouth and sing. What a mistake that would be.
I still call myself a communist, because communism is no more what Russia made of it than Christianity is what the churches make of it. But if by some freak of history communism had caught up with this country, I would have been one of the first people thrown in jail.