Songwriting

So, pardon the short commentary, but I have been very busy and distracted and my writing, as a consequence, I believe has been rather lightweight lately. I hope to improve on things over the next few weeks.

I have some vague ideas on some songs coalescing, little bits of music I’ve been hearing in my dreams.

Meanwhile, here’s a rudimentary song I wrote way back in the beginning.

(oh, and I should mention, instead of self-publishing, I have an agreement with a publisher for my book, Memories of When We Were Birds, to debut @ Nov. 15)

MARQUETTE

Justin’s juggling 3 girls, they all are named Danielle

And they don’t know about it, as far as I can tell

Stacy stumbled in last night, bumped her shin and fell

Momma found her on the couch, drunk on muscatel

 

On ne sais jamais comme les choses vont tournee

Who can say how it all will turn out

I’m cracked like the windshield of Dad’s Chevrolet

Cuz I can’t see what life’s all about

I’m looking for a reason, but I haven’t found it yet

And it’s a long, long way…        to Marquette

****

The crows are in the garden, the boys are in the street

The girls are on the porch swing, their voices sound so sweet

My momma’s in the kitchen, the dogs are all in heat

Whenever Stacy calls my name I’m staring at my feet

 

On ne sais jamais comme les choses vont tournee

Who can say what will happen to me

I’m green like the paint on my Dad’s Chevrolet

Cuz I’m jealous of who I can’t be

I’m looking for a girlfriend, but I haven’t found her yet

And it’s a long, long way…        to Marquette

****

Rivers flood, hearts go thud, separate fates enlace,

Airplanes crash, colds winds lash, I dream of Stacy’s face

****

Last night I rode the ferris wheel high above the fair       

The stars were blurred like dandelions hanging in the air

Now Justin and Danielle are sitting on the stair

And Stacy’s at the kitchen sink, washing out her hair

 

On ne sais jamais comme les choses vont tournee

Who can say what will lie up ahead

I’m changing the oil on my Dad’s Chevrolet

And I’m shaking the dust from my head

I’m looking for the car keys, and Stacey’s hair’s still wet

And we just might drive…        to Marquette

And it’s a long long way to Marquette, etc

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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