songwriting

"words make you think a thought, music makes you feel a feeling, a song makes you feel a thought." Yip Harburg

Songs by Harry Becker
scroll down or click on songs for audio and lyrics (some audio tracks not yet available)

The Road To The Fair Of Grand-Bourg
Words and Music by Harry Becker © 2011

the bells of Grand Bourg are tolling once more the party is well under way
tis the day of the Fete and the stage has been set for a band of musicians to play
fiddles and flutes and troubadour’s lutes gather as in days of old
when church bells would chime over jugglers and mimes and puppeteer’s tale would be told

stones have been paved, souls have been saved, and the tall grass still sways on the moor
where a warm summer breeze rustles the trees on the road to the Fair of Grand Bourg

the streets of Grand Bourg are happy once more they’re setting up tables and chairs
cheerful displays of flowered bouquets for merchants to offer their wares
there’s silk from Ceylon and tea from Hunan and coffee from land cross the sea
satin from Spain and yarn by the skein and Lace that was made in Paris

stones have been paved, souls have been saved, and the tall grass still sways on the moor
where a warm summer breeze rustles the trees on the road to the Fair of Grand Bourg

dancers and actors enter the square and prepare to put on a play
an artist unfolds an easel and chair and a sign that says half price on portraits today

and the Bells of Grand Bourg are tolling once more and the faithful have answered the call
falcons still glide over Corsican Pines and perch on the steeples so tall
Percheron’s graze and look up to gaze at the travelers passing their way
like the saints carved in stone peering down from their throne silent with nothing to say

their stone’s been engraved, their souls have been save and the tall grass still sways on the moor
where a warm summer breeze rustles the trees on the road to the Fair of Grand Bourg

Dancing The Waltz
Words & Music by Harry Becker©2019

The young ladies were preening their white ballroom dresses
adorned with Gardenias and fine French perfume
the Summer Cotillion was soon to commence
And the young girls were blushing like flowers in bloom

Mrs. Pendleton gazed at the powder room mirror
dreaming of days a long time ago
the Belle of the Ball she filled every dance card
with all of Society’s finest young beaus

but she married a welder who worked at the docks
and went off to fight in the war
he never returned and she never remarried
or danced the waltz anymore

her suitors were rich from the finest of families
with titles and privilege and acres of land
but she chose to elope despite family objections
preferring a man who worked with his hands

she devoted her life to the daughter he gave her
he never heard cry or held in his arms
spent all she had on the finest of schools
to give her the skills to survive on her own

she can still feel his strong arm embracing her waist
like it did when they danced round the floor
as the band starts to play she dreams of the day
they’ll be dancing the waltz once more

young men in tuxedos wait in the hallway
where portraits of old men hang on the wall
and black and white photos, yellowed and faded
of people and times they’re too young to recall

her granddaughters hand gently touches her shoulder
she struggles to stand her cane by her side
and jokingly tells her “don’t ever get old’
though she knows it’s not something you get to decide

she married a welder who worked at the docks
and went off to fight in the war
he never returned and she never stopped dreaming
they’d be dancing the waltz once more

Dreamy Waltz
instrumental composed and performed by Harry Becker & Elric Walker

to enjoy more of Elric's artistry clear here facebook, reverbnation

Goin' Home Song
Words & Music by Harry Becker ©2019

the bar’s tryin’ to close, the last quarter goes
in the Jukebox to play one more song
the bartender knows ‘less this ole barstool throws me
I’ll be sittin’ here drinkin’ till dawn
so he turns out a light says let’s call it a night
and takes an old broom to the floor
it’s last call for beer and just time to hear
a goin’ home song once more

goin’ home, goin’ home
I’m drunk and I’m tired and feelin’ alone
put the chairs on the table and polish the chrome
and play me a goin’ home song

I can tell you a story of heartache and glory
but I’ll spare you and cut to the chase
I could show you the scars I got reachin’ for stars
as long as that grin on your face
for now I’ll just leave you with a thought I believe you
may not have considered before
life’s a bottle of beer you drink till you hear
that goin’ home song once more

goin’ home, goin’ home…

don’t play me a song about love that’s gone wrong
it’ll just make me ask myself why
and don’t play a song about heartbreak and longing
it just brings a tear to my eye
the hour’s too late to be questioning fate
it is what it is right or wrong
so as the cowboys all say let’s round up the strays
and sing an old goin’ home song

here’s to young lovers who’ll tell you their love is
the kind that will always be true
and those passed their prime who drink too much wine
and say there’s not much they can do
to those living lives helping others survive
and try to make right what is wrong
when your life’s work is done may there be someone
to sing you a goin’ home song

goin’ home, goin’ home…

Train Bound For Paradise
Words & Music by Harry Becker©2019

I was tired, resting my head on a pillow
embraced by the sound of a soft summer rain
the curtains were swaying like leaves on a willow
and clouds rose like steam from a far away train

and I thought I heard singing from a heavenly choir
a song as ancient as water and stone
and I felt my soul lifting higher and higher
with a lightness of being I’d never known

and they were singing oh glory oh glorious day
there’s a train bound for paradise headin’ this way

there were voices as warm as the sound of a cello
and voices triumphant as trumpets of gold
there were voices as soft as a breeze on a meadow
and joyful like bells Sunday morning would toll

there were voices eternal as waves on an ocean
like a child with a seashell held to her head
there were voices as loving as a mother’s devotion
rocking her baby asleep in its bed

and they were singing oh glory oh glorious day
there’s a train bound for paradise headin’ this way

when the time comes for boardin’ I’ll be at the station
dressed in my finest my guitar in hand
blessed by the company of friends and relations
I’ll consider myself a most fortunate man

I’ll be gratefully singin’ this song as a token
of my appreciation for the love I have known
and I’ll be sorry, for leavin’ a kind word unspoken
or a consideration that I could have shown

and I’ll be singing oh glory oh glorious day
there’s a train bound for paradise headin’ this way

It Is What It Is
Words & Music by Harry Becker©2019

it's a car that won't start, a horse you can't lead
a course you can't chart, a map you can't read
it's an exit you passed, a road you can't find
you were going too fast to notice the sign
it's time you can't waste in a race you can't win
steps you can't trace 'less you know where you've been

it's a chance you can't take, a bridge you can't cross
a choice you can't make, a coin you can't toss
a toll you can't pay, a pass you can't buy
despite what you say you cannot deny
it's a "T" you can't cross, an "I" you can't dot
it is what it is and it's not what it's not

it's an itch you can't scratch, a pain you can't kill
a hole you can't patch, a void you can't fill
a wound that won't heal, a break that won't mend
it's a peace you can't feel in a war that won't end
a grief you can't shake, an eye that won't dry
a smile you can't fake as hard as you try

it's a clue you can't find, a case you can't close
a confession to sign, a fine to impose
a sentence to serve, a debt you must pay
though you feel you deserve to be pardoned someday
it's a "T" you can't cross, an "I" you can't dot
it is what it is, and it's not what it's not

it's a song you can't sing without shedding a tear
a bell you can't ring 'cause the coast isn't clear
it's a nut you can't crack a knot to untie
a word to take back that made someone cry

it's a breath you can't waste on a mind you can't change
a tail you can't chase without going insane
it's a lock you can't break, a key you can't turn
it's the same old mistake 'cause you never learn
it's a "T" you can't cross, an "I" you can't dot
it is what it is and not what it's not

The House On Wilder Road
Words by Harry Becker, Music by H.Becker & Nick Tesini © 2008

titles and possessions are not measures of a man
it's the deeds you do that count not those you own
you can't buy a reputation it's more valuable than land
it's the knowing that you care when a brother needs a hand
it's the sum of all the kindnesses you've shown

a house stands in the hills of Mass, made of brick, wood and glass
and though three hundred years have passed its lamps are still aglow
built when men wore ruffled shirts and women shawls and ruffled skirts,
the men would bow, the ladies curtsied when they said hello.
Its claim to fame was it was home to a man of great renown
Sampson Wilder was his name and Bolton was his town

here’s to the ladies and the gentlemen with fancy handkerchiefs and canes
and a horse and a carriage to carry them to the house on Wilder Road,

Wilder was a worldly man, a fair and decent gentleman,
who traded with Napoleon two hundred years ago.
when the emperor lost his crown, Sampson said now don’t you frown,
you can live upon my ground where the pines and maples grow.
we’ll dress you up as my valet and drape you with a cloak
upon my ship you’ll stow away in a barrel made of oak.

Wilder’s plan was well received as good a plan as e’er conceived
but Napoleon would have to leave his loyal friends behind.
abandoning his entourage, no longer be the one in charge,
the sacrifice was much too large and the offer he declined.
why did he stay? some will say for dignity and pride
in a barrel he could get away but he’d never get inside

here’s to the ladies and the gentlemen…

of all of Samson Wilder’s guests Marquis de Lafayette was best.
he spent a night to take a rest in eighteen twenty four.
the roads were lined with lanterns hung in every window there was one
in honor of the deeds he’d done in our Independence War
Wilder was a gracious host a true and loyal friend
with glasses raised he’d make a toast and end it with amen

today the house looks over trees, Wilder brought from overseas
how beautiful the legacies, some men leave behind
‘neath the sun with crowns of gold, tall and strong and ages old
still bearing fruit of a good ole soul and his nature to be kind
you’ll still find imported vines that link us to the past
when Sampson Wilder made French wine in the hills in Bolton Mass

here’s to the ladies and the gentlemen…

Mollie’s Waltz
words and music by Harry Becker © 2018
to the tune of “At The Tryst”© 1891 by Mary (Mollie) Armstrong Tucker (1842-1922)

for a photo of Mollie and info on Castle Tucker click here Historic New England

Instrumental Intro: excerpt from Mollie's composition "At The Tryst"

t’was a time of adventure, the west was still young, and Mollie was only sixteen
when she wed Captain Tucker, a man of the sea, with more than respectable means
he bought her a castle on the coastline of Maine with a river view fit for a queen,
and a rosewood piano hand made in Boston the finest she’d ever seen

Mollie would play the waltz everyday as her Captain would look on with pride
but his ventures would fail and his heart would be broken when he could no longer provide
the strain of a life of worry and strife would break someone far less assured
but Mollie was strong and with help from her children she and her castle endured

her first child was Mame who was born for the stage and once toured with Buffalo Bill
her second was Richard who followed the stars, an astronomer’s life would fulfill
Patty would write for the Denver Tribune and fight for the suffragette’s cause
and Will would go west in search of adventure, dreaming of far distant shores

Mollie would play as the years slipped away, her husband no more by her side
he was seventy nine, and she fifty three, the year the old captain died
her youngest now grown, Jennie came home to help her poor mother survive
then devoted her life to care for the castle and keep Mollie’s memory alive

and so Castle Tucker remains undisturbed as grand as it was in the day
when Mollie and Jen would open its doors and the gentry would come for a stay
they’d sit in the parlor now frozen in time like the stories the ladies would share
of the life and adventures of Richard H. Tucker and the hardships they had to bear

then Mollie would play recalling a day when her Captain would look on with pride
distinguished and strong, he was her hero, and she, his starry eyed bride
their story now told, the moral though old is one we’d do well to preserve
“tis rare that one gets the life one expects and rarer the life one deserves”

T’was a time of adventure when the west was still young and Mollie was only sixteen
she wed Captain Tucker, a man of the sea with more than respectable means
he bought her a castle on the coastline of Maine with a river view fit for a queen
and a rosewood piano hand made in Boston the finest she’d ever seen

Candy's Rag
composed and performed by Harry Becker

A Night Without You
words and music by Harry Becker
performed by John Dandurand

snows on the mountain, clouds in the sky,
leaves floating by with the wind.
fill up the cupboard, stack up the wood,
kindle the fire again.

I’ve known a few winters, I know what to do,
but I’d always be unprepared,
if ever I’d wake in the cold of the night
reach out and not find you there.

It’s not the warm fire burning inside
that makes a house feel like a home.
It’s not the cold wind that freezes as much
as the thought of being alone.

so if I appear to have something to fear
there isn’t that much I can do.
It’s simply my way to consider the worse
and think of a night without you

wind’s blowing harder , skies getting dark,
temperature’s falling below.
the weather has warned of an oncoming storm,
time to prepare for the snow.

It’s not hard to do all that needs to be done,
but I don’t know how to provide
relief from the chill I get from the thought
of you being “way from my side.

It’s not the warm fire burning inside
that makes a house feel like a home.
It’s not the cold wind that freezes as much
as the thought of being alone

so if I appear to have something to fear
there isn’t that much I can do.
It’s simply my way to consider the worse
and think of a night without you

If Not For Loving You
music by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Portuguese lyrics by Vinicius de Moraes, English lyrics by Harry Becker
Lui Collins, vocal and tenor ukulele, Max Cohen, vocal and guitar, recorded by Max Cohen

to enjoy more of Lui's artistry click here www.luicollins.com

My darling, know this love of our’s was always meant to be
and I was always meant for you as you were meant for me
know while we may be apart the sadness that we feel
is just the heartache lovers share when love is true and real
but in your sadness know there is no cause for you to cry
for every road I travel leads me closer to your side

how lovely is the moonlight but how lovely would it be
if not for its reflection on the dark and lonely sea
and how would rain fall from the sky to make the flowers grow
is it not the dark and gloomy clouds that make it so
great poems would ne’er be penned if, heartache, poets never knew
and I would not be singing now if not for loving you

Molly Clare
Words and music by Harry Becker ©2017
(audio soon to be provided)

The Storm
Words & Music by Harry Becker ©2015
(audio soon to be provided)

I was sailing on a steamer off the coast of Argentina one bright and sunny day
I was staring at the ocean when I saw a cloud approachin' that turned the sky of blue to grey
Suddenly a rain began to fall and a howling wind began to blow
Icy waves were breaking o’er the bow as the ship swayed to and fro

more steam more steam the captain screamed to the stokers down below
if we can’t stand up to these waves to the bottom we will go

sadly every stoker was busy playing poker and did not heed the charge
the hands that they were holdin’ were far too good for foldin’ and the pot had grown so large
every bet was met then raised once more every man was sure he’d win
but when the table tumbled ‘cross the floor they knew the trouble that they were in

more steam more steam the captain screamed is there no one down below
If we can’t turn this ship around to the bottom we will go

Now when a banker, a broker, a poker-playing stoker is distracted by financial gain
Ships begin a-sinking ‘cause the only thing they’re thinking is how to beat the game
Of all the deadly sins that plague mankind the worst by far is greed
It corrupts a man’s attention and makes him blind to what he really needs

What propels us on the ocean, provides the locomotion when there’s a heavy load to haul
What drives the generators that supplies illumination when evening shadows fall
What turns the giant wheels of industry and makes a factory whistle blow
What keeps a ship afloat on a raging sea and gets it where it needs to go

More steam more steam the captain screamed to the stokers down below
If we don’t turn this ship around to the bottom we will go

The Fisherman’s Song
Words and Music by Harry Becker ©2012
(audio soon to be provided)

When I was a far much younger man I went up to the northern land
to live the life of a fisherman and feel the ocean spray
But no fishing boat would hire me a boy as green as e’er could be
who never sailed upon the sea and wouldn’t last a day

With no captain left to turn me down the only option to be found
was a fishery at the edge of town where employment I secured
Two bucks an hour was all they paid what was I to do or say but
work from dawn to dusk each day where the fishing boats were moored

All my life I held the line and kept the faith that I could find
a place to rest some peace of mind and a day when I could say
I gave my heart my loyalty and truth as far as I could see
and like a big old fish I’d be “one that got away”

Jamie had a boat and he painted it blue give another coat it’ll look like new
Gave it to his son who’s a fisherman too and he’s the captain now
From dawn to dusk they haul their nets as hard as hard work ever gets
And they sing a song lest they forget what they’re working for
And you can hear them sing

I’m a fisherman like me dear ole Da and like me grand-da too
Its what I know it’s what I love and I was born to do

When I was a lad me da would say you’re gonna be a man like me someday
but there are rules you must obey or else you won’t survive
then he’d sing his songs, sad and true of storms fishermen must sail through
and the women who wait and pray they do and never ask them why
they know they’ll just reply I’m a fisherman like me dear ole Da …

So pour me an ale , I’ll tell you tales of flying fish and jumping whales
guaranteed ne’er to fail to make you laugh and cry
and if we’re standing come the dawn I’ll play and sing another song
and if you care to sing along I’ll happily comply

I fish for sole , I fish for cod, I fish for fun with a fishing rod
and I’m too old to work this hard but not too old to play
like a stone upon the rocky shore weather worn from days of yore
I ‘ll be here forevermore and forever and a day
you will hear me say I’m a fisherman like me dear ole Da …

The Witness Tree
words by Harry Becker, music by Elric Walker and Harry Becker
(audio soon to be provided)

darlin’ won’t you take my hand and come along with me
to where a lazy creek begins its journey to the sea
it flows beneath a bridge of stone as quiet as a prayer
be‘neath the branches of a tree that towers in the air
there upon a hallowed ground I’ll vow my love for thee
by the giant sycamore they call the witness tree

back in 1862 September seventeen
the union army faced the troops of good ole Bobby Lee
by the time the day was o’er history would recall
in the Battle of Antietam twenty thousand men would fall
of all the days in all the wars no greater loss would be
but you don’t have take my word just ask the witness tree

they fell in Miller’s cornfield and they fell on Sunken Road
they fell along Antietam Creek where scarlet waters flowed
the wounded lay from Dunker Church down to the bridge of stone
where metal shard and musket balls cut them to the bone
there beside the river barely tall enough to see
stood a sapling sycamore that’s called the witness tree

one hundred thousand loyal men battled on that day
certain they would not survive they marched into the fray
with letters writ the night before buttoned to their breast
their final words as they prepared to meet their final rest
my death is not in vain my love so don’t you cry for me
my story, will fore’er be told by the witness tree

so pick a flower when it blooms and put it in your hair
pick a a straw from a broom and throw it in the air
pick a rabbit from a hat, a white dove from your sleeve
fool me into seeing something I cannot believe
make me laugh the way I did when I was only three
take my hand and we will dance around the witness tree

Twinkle In Your Eye
Words and music by Harry Becker © 2011
(audio soon to be provided)

Wise men say that happiness cant be bought or sold
and love's a very precious thing, more valuable than gold
Pretty jewels can blind a fool, they glitter oh so bright,
but when I look into your eyes I see the light.

Some may wish to be a star, the brightest in the sky
but as for me I'd rather be a twinkle in your eye.
When you're rich, it's true, a diamond's sparkle you can buy
that may be but I'd rather see a twinkle in your eye

It's a noble quest to be the best and enjoy your just reward
but a greater prize is in the eyes of one that you adore
cause fame is fleeting and fortunes fall, on this you can rely
but I will shine as long as I'm a twinkle in your eye

Rainy Day
words by Harry Becker & Jan Tesini, music by Harry Becker

she can hold my heart in her hand,
put a smile upon my face as I walk along
this moonlit street alone

raindrops falling from the trees
seem to be making melodies
as sweet as a French love song.

and as a firefly lights up my way
through a mist rising from the ground
I know I found a joy
and closing my eyes
she comes into view

and it's not just another rainy day
just another walk alone
for I know when I get home she will be there

It's such a curiosity
but as the thought of her comes over me
a world once familiar and sad seems brighter somehow

and it's not just another rainy day
or just another moon above
it seems to have the look of love on its face

I know it's just a state of mind
but when you love and know you’re loved in kind
it's easy to find some delight in a rainy day

Lonely People
words and music by Harry Becker © 2006

well, the story goes, Sir Isaac Newton sat beneath a tree.
an apple falling on his head disturbed his reverie.
averting his attention, from what was on his mind,
till he could find an explanation.

but the secrets of the universe were not his only thought,
answers to such questions, not the only ones he sought.
why was he beneath that tree with no one by his side,
no one to confide to as he pondered?

consider all the sad and lonely people in this world,
logic might suggest a remedy.
It’s just a matter of time, they should find
some comfort in each other’s company.

but there’s no place for logic in discussions of the heart.
the subject of what’s smart does not arise.
the nature of attraction is unclear, when two bodies near,
the laws of gravitation don’t apply.

and so we plot our journeys and travel to the stars,
and wonder just how far we’ve really come.
the unresolved equation still remains, science can’t explain
all the lonely people.

My Night’s Blue
words and music by Harry Becker

when evening’s near and stars appear to brighten up the sky
it’s a beautiful sight to see
but stars don’t shine for those who pine for a love that said goodbye
and I’m as sad as I can be
forsaken and forlorn, I sing a lonely song waiting for the daw

my night’s blue ‘way from you
I’m so sad what can I do
since you’re gone I long for your return to me

only you can only do
so make my only dream come true
and hurry home cause I’m so lonesome
and my nights are blue

day goes by I sit and sigh
why must you roam?
I toss and turn each night and yearn
to hear you say you’re coming home

the moon is high up in the sky
but it don’t glow and you know why
the sky is grey since you’re away
and my nights are blue

without you near my world is dark and gloomy
a cloud the sun cannot shine through

the moon is high up in the sky
but it don’t glow and you know why
the sky is grey since you’re away
and my nights are blue

You think of it from time to time like the vintage of good wine
savoring the memory of a very special year.
When the hawk were silenced by the dove and you were young and so in love
and songs about Aquarius were playing on the air.

How your wings and courage grew, t’was all so fresh and new to you,
a butterfly with an eagle’s view as high as you can see.
Above the clouds beneath the stars, how very real your dreamin’ was
when you closed your eyes and let your restless spirit free.

Like a migratory bird, the time had come to say the word
your generation seemed to fill the sky.
And though you’ve come to settle down, your two feet firmly on the ground
you know your fate was sealed the day you heard the call to fly.

Well the rainbow’s faded , stories told, there never was a pot of gold
The rights to Eden have been sold , the garden’s gone to seed.
Upon the mercy of the wind you drifted till you blended in
adjusting to the gravity your weary wings concede.

And though at times you wonder if the whole thing wasn’t all a myth
you still believe that dreaming is a virtue not a vice.
For the visionary helps us see a world some say will never be
but there’s the possibility we’ll meet in paradise

Like a migratory bird, the time had come to say the word
your generation seemed to fill the sky.
And though you’ve come to settle down, your two feet firmly on the ground
you know your fate was sealed the day you heard the call to fly.

Lonnie's Song
to the tune of Waltzing Matilda
revised lyrics by Harry Becker

you get up in the morning and your back’s in pain.
could this be the day you’re gonna need a cane?
but you’re so young how can this be?
wasn’t it just yesterday when you were dancin’?
mean ole’ mirror wants you to believe
you’re gonna wither quicker than an autumn leave.
truth is cold, but you ain’t old,
you just been young so long

seems you can’t remember where you parked your car,
half the time you don’t know who or where you are.
you’re so sure you lost your mind.
It’s just a little faded from a long exposure.
hair turns gray and starts to shed.
soon there’ll be more on the floor than on your head.
wipe that shoulder, you ain’t old, nah,
you just been young so long

so go and shine the finest shoes you got.
I bet you still remember how to tie the knot.
comb that hair, put on that smile.
baby you still got it, so let’s go flauntin’.
strut your stuff, show some pride,
put a little spirit in your stride.
you never lost your taste for style and grace,
and such an inspiration to the other kids now

someday soon beneath December’s moon
you’ll find you skin all shriveled up just like a prune.
long deep lines upon your face,
how can there be so many wrinkles in one place?
and some New Year someone will cheer,
turn to you and say “Good God! Are you still here?”
truth be told, you ain’t old,
you just been young hell,
you’re just bloomin,’
you just been young so long.

Diamond Castle
words by Carli Tesini & Harry Becker, music by Harry Becker & Charlie Braun 2010
vocal by Emma Marie (Emery) Henderson, Harry Becker on the Ukulele

click here to view young Emma recording "Diamond Castle"

click here to view Emery performing "Someone To Watch Over Me"

when I wake up I hear those noises
I never heard back home, oh
but then I think of you
nd my whole world turns around, oh
take me away somewhere far
I don’t care if it’s too small

all I want is you
take me to the Diamond Castle
all I want is you
take me where my dreams come true

I lay here in my bed alone
just me in my home alone, oh
I see you in a picture frame
and it makes me want to say oh
take me away somewhere far
I don’t care if it’s too small

all I want is you
take me to the Diamond Castle
all I want is you
take me where my dreams come true

Gaviotas
words and music by Harry Becker
based upon "Gaviotas - A Village To Reinvent The World" by Alan Weisman

for more info on Gaviotas and Alan's book click here www.friendsofgaviotas.org

it appears like an island of green
in a vast empty wasteland too harsh for a people to live
an impossible dream
imagine a forest in the middle of nowhere
who’s idea was it to plant all these trees
who are these people trying to please

the Andean rains feed the great Rio Meta
that flows down the slopes to the basin below
then five hundred miles through the Llanos Savanna
where the river gulls fly and the tall grasses grow
why is this village so far away
what are these people trying to say in Las Gaviotas

imagine a world without fear
no homeless or hunger where everyone’s safe and secure
where the water is clear
and the land’s green and fertile and nothing is wasted
can this be possible, can this be true
what are these people trying to do

the Andean rains feed the great Rio Meta . . .

what have we learned from the stars
how tiny, fragile, and precious is our little world
have we come this far
just to waste it away like its ours for the taking
where is the vision the will to explore
ideas no one has thought of before

the Andean rains feed the great Rio Meta . . .

on the shores of California you can hear celestial chimes
wearin’ beads and feathers drinkin’ fine white wine,
and up in New York City there’s sophisticated jazz
what a brassy personality that gritty city has.

but if it doesn’t swing don’t bring it into Texas.
gotta have that rhythm if you want to ride.
all the cowboys sing the next best thing to sex is
to hear that steel guitar begin to slide

down in Mississippi delta blues is in the air,
like an arm around your shoulder sayin’ there, there, there,
and Louisiana’s dixieland is sure to rock your soul,
you’ll swear you’ve gone to heaven when you hear that jellyroll

but if it doesn’t swing don’t bring it into Texas.
gotta slap that bass if you want to ride.
all the cowboys sing the next best thing to sex is
to hear that steel guitar begin to slide

now you know your rock-a-billy from the hills of Tennessee
can start your feet a-jumpin’, make you slap your knee,
and when that ole’ Kentucky bluegrass gets you tappin’ with your toes
damn near pretty as a Texas San Antonio rose.

you can yodel in Montana, serenade in Santa Fe,
wail in ole’ Chicago, make ‘em say hey hey.
but if you want to hoot and holler on a honky Tonkin’ floor
gotta learn to twirl your partner or else check it at the door

cause if it doesn’t swing don’t bring it into Texas.
gotta feel that fiddle if you want to ride.
all the cowboys sing the next best thing to sex is
to hear that steel guitar begin to slide

if it doesn’t swing don’t bring it into Texas.
gotta have that rhythm if you want to ride.
all the cowboys sing the next best thing to sex is
to hear that steel guitar begin to slide

Chamomile
composed and performed by Harry Becker

Oratorio
composed and performed by Harry Becker

September Sweet
composed and performed by Harry Becker

songwriting

Goin' Home SongWords & Music by Harry Becker ©2019

Goin' Home Song
Words & Music by Harry Becker ©2019