Happy Halloween! 

Though it's been decades since this kitschy, creepy faux-Frankenstein party tune scared up a No. 1 slot on the Hot 100 in 1962, Bobby "Boris" Pickett & The Crypt Kickers "Monster Mash" has been on Halloween party playlists ever since. Here is a video clip from 1964. I love Bobby's faces!

Is it time for a new version of the #1 Halloween song?
Who wants to write the updated Monster Mash?
Make sure you can lip sync as good as Bobby "Boris" Pickett.

Stephen Stills is a great songwriter and has treated our ears and minds to many unforgettable hours while working solo and with CSN, CSNY, Manassas and Buffalo Springfield. Let's take a look at one of his more obscure tunes, Witching Hour. After all tomorrow is Halloween. This song can be interpreted in many ways. Spooky! He played it on his solo album Pieces and Chris Hillman covered it on his first solo album Slippin' Away in 1976.

Witching Hour

Stephen Stills

People they just don't seem to understand
Who is this person but he's just a man
He's seen it high he's seen it low
He’s traveled miles he don't know.

Imagination takes him far away
Dreamin' up things he might write down someday
And these people they turn around and say
At least I'm not alone, somebody else speakin’.

He got the world, he got the power
He got the wisdom, he'll never cower
He gonna tell you to tear down the tower
He'll make you pay in the witching hour.

He gets so confused
When he knows he's bein' used
He's so easily abused
And it hurts him so.

When Mr. Dreamer comes up with a new light
To cast on something hidden deep in the night
Heluva nation can be painfully bright
Some people love him for it other say he ain't got no right.

He got the world he got the power
He got the wisdom he'll never cower
He gonna tell you to tear down the tower
He'll make you pay in the witching hour.

He gets so confused
When he knows he's bein' used
He's so easily abused
And it hurts him so.

People asleep are easily alone
Come on, wake up, you’re missing on the farm
There’s so much to do that ain’t been done
Come on, the music’s playin’ the day has been gone.

He got the world he got the power
He got the wisdom ain’t gonna cower
He gonna be the one to tear down the tower
’Cause you’ve been thinkin’ in the witching hour.

Halfway Home will be recorded at my up coming session. Get a good emotional response to this tune.

Halfway Home

Walt Sample

Sam’s pullin’ late watch Sargent Toms asleep

I’m countin’ the days till I can kiss my sweet Georgia peach

One hundred eighty four more days to go

But in forty eight hours I’m half way home

I wanna’ ride home In a B fifty two

But not in a steel box covered with red white and blue

So I keepin’ my head down prayin’ prayers everyday

That there ain’t a hot lead bullet comin’ my way

Half way home half way home

Oh I wanna’ be half way home

Half way home half way home

Oh I wanna’ be half way home

As my days tick away in Uncle Sam’s war

Sometimes I wonder what were even fightin’ for

But the only thing that matters hell all I really need to know

In forty eight hours I’m half way home

Half way home half way home

Oh I wanna’ be half way home

Half way home half way home

Oh I wanna’ be half way home

Standing on the tarmac duffle bag in hand

Fifty two rolling up to take me home again

Night after night I live the dream

Marine caught in a time machine

Half way home half way home

Oh I wanna’ be half way home

Half way home half way home

Oh I wanna’ be half way home

Dan Van Vliet, aka. Captain Beefheart, gives us ten fun rules for guitar players.

There is some deep stuff behind the humor. 

1. Listen to the birds

That’s where all the music comes from. Birds know everything about how it should sound and where that sound should come from. And watch hummingbirds. They fly really fast, but a lot of times they aren’t going anywhere.

2. Your guitar is not really a guitar

Your guitar is a divining rod. Use it to find spirits in the other world and bring them over. A guitar is also a fishing rod. If you’re good, you’ll land a big one.

3. Practice in front of a bush

Wait until the moon is out, then go outside, eat a multi-grained bread and play your guitar to a bush. If the bush doesn’t shake, eat another piece of bread.

4. Walk with the devil

Old Delta blues players referred to guitar amplifiers as the “devil box.” And they were right. You have to be an equal opportunity employer in terms of who you’re brining over from the other side. Electricity attracts devils and demons. Other instruments attract other spirits. An acoustic guitar attracts Casper. A mandolin attracts Wendy. But an electric guitar attracts Beelzebub.

5. If you’re guilty of thinking, you’re out

If your brain is part of the process, you’re missing it. You should play like a drowning man, struggling to reach shore. If you can trap that feeling, then you have something that is fur bearing.

6. Never point your guitar at anyone

Your instrument has more clout than lightning. Just hit a big chord then run outside to hear it. But make sure you are not standing in an open field.

7. Always carry a church key

That’s your key-man clause. Like One String Sam. He’s one. He was a Detroit street musician who played in the fifties on a homemade instrument. His song “I Need a Hundred Dollars” is warm pie. Another key to the church is Hubert Sumlin, Howlin’ Wolf’s guitar player. He just stands there like the Statue of Liberty — making you want to look up her dress the whole time to see how he’s doing it.

8. Don’t wipe the sweat off your instrument

You need that stink on there. Then you have to get that stink onto your music.

9. Keep your guitar in a dark place

When you’re not playing your guitar, cover it and keep it in a dark place. If you don’t play your guitar for more than a day, be sure you put a saucer of water in with it.

10. You gotta have a hood for your engine

Keep that hat on. A hat is a pressure cooker. If you have a roof on your house, the hot air can’t escape. Even a lima bean has to have a piece of wet paper around it to make it grow.

George Orwell has given us some fine guidelines for writing.

A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least 

four questions, thus: 

1.     What am I trying to say?

2.     What words will express it?

3.     What image or idiom will make it clearer?

4.     Is this image fresh enough to have an effect?

And he will probably ask himself two more:

1.     Could I put it more shortly?

2.     Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly?

One can often be in doubt about the effect of a word or a phrase, and one needs rules that one can rely on when instinct fails. I think the following rules will cover most cases:

1.     Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

2.     Never use a long word where a short one will do.

3.     If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

4.     Never use the passive where you can use the active.

5.     Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

6.     Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.   

From Orwell's essay "Politics and the English Language."

Getting ready to record some songs this winter. Have quite a few songs that seem ready for the next step. Watch Out Broken Heart is on the list.

        Watch Out Broken Heart        

Walt Sample

Watch out Watch out broken heart

Don’t let her hook us again

She tricked us the first time

We fell in love with her

Caught us hook line & sinker

We fell for her pretty lure

But she never stopped fishing

After we were caught

Threw us back for better

At least that’s what she thought

Watch out broken heart

Don’t let her hook us again

Don’t let her reel us back in

Watch out broken heart

Her trophy swam downstream

Spit out her shinny bait

Now’s she’s casting back our way

But her lure is second rate

This time will be different

We learn from our mistakes

We won't be an easy catch

Were tired of heartaches

Watch out broken heart

Don’t let her hook us again

Don’t let her reel us back in

Watch out broken heart

Vivid images for your eyes and hungry smells for you nose. Nostalgia for you heart and fuel for forgotten memories. Mickey Newbury packs 'em all in. Unusual rhyme schemes rule.

How I Love Them Old Songs

Mickey Newbury  

Dog gone my soul how I love them old songs

'Cause they were a comfort to me when I was alone
The dancin' stops but the music goes on
Dog gone my soul how I love them old songs

Ah when I hear that double Eagle guitar
It makes me think how trouble free girl we are
There was a time I spent my nights in a bar
Playin' that old jukebox until the honky tonkie locked up

Dog gone my mind it just won't leave me alone
Keeps on remindin' me I'm so far from home
Them heart breakin' achin' eggs and bacon country songs
Well they take me back to hardwood floors outdoor johns and mason jars

It's all I can do to believe that it's gone
That hard knockin' rockin' rollin' life that I've known
Well, the dancin's all over the music must go on
Dog gone my soul how I love them old songs

Always on the lookout for tips that really hit home with easy to digest messages. I think I have found a true gem on my morning hike. 

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” 

 Robert Frost

Hank Cochran offers some advice.  

"When you are going to sleep, your mind relaxes and those lyrics or ideas come into your mind. You'd better write them down."

Cool story about inspiration for his song Make the World Go Away. 

"I was intently listening to the lines in a movie, and the woman in the movie said something, 'How do I look?' The guy replies, 'You look like you could make the world go away.' I grabbed my date's hand and she asked,'Where are you going, the movie ain't over.' and I said, 'The hell in ain't' come on let's go'! So I drug her out and we got in the car and I started to write the song and got my guitar out as soon as we got to my apartment. I thought I had a good one. I told my publisher the next day. He told me to play the song for him. He looked at me and said he thought it is the worst song that I had ever written. I told him, 'Everyone wants to make the world go away and get it off their shoulders.' "I knew I was right and he was wrong. He told me I had proved him wrong before and I was determined to do it again. I got it cut in a week by a girl named Timi Yero [a minor pop hit] and then by Ray Price [a No. 1 song]."

Make The World Go Away

Hank Cochran

Make the world go away

And get it off my shoulders

Say the things you used to say

And make the world go away

Do you remember when you loved me
Before the world took me astray?
If you do, then forgive me
And make the world go away

Make the world go away
And get it off my shoulders
Say the things you used to say
And make the world go away

I'm sorry if I hurt you
I'll make it up day by day
Just say you love me like you used to
And make the world go away

Make the world go away
And get it off my shoulders
Say the things you used to say
And make the world go away

Say the things you used to say
And make the world go away

Hello Big Mule Music Friends I have some great news! Walt Leuzinger's song "River Of Grass" was chosen for use in a documentary that is being filmed called "Guardians Of The Everglades". It is about the notable conservationists who have helped to restore and preserve the unique habitat and wildlife of the Everglades. Click on the link to see a promotional video about the film. Check out the credit at the end. Walt's song is playing during the entire video.

Great job Walt! 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUU9MH5rh9I

Great advice from Anne Lamott.

"Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something—anything—down on paper. A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft— you just get it down. The second draft is the up draft—you fix it up. You try to say what you have to say more accurately. And the third draft is the dental draft, where you check every tooth, to see if it’s loose or cramped or decayed, or even, God help us, healthy."

"Writing a first draft is very much like watching a Polaroid develop. You can’t— and, in fact, you’re not supposed to— know exactly what the picture is going to look like until it has finished developing. First you just point at what has your attention and take the picture." 

Anne Lamott. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (p. 25 and 39). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition. 

Come Monday, a great song written by Jimmy Buffet in 1973. 

Come Monday

Jimmy Buffet

Headin' up to San Francisco

For the Labor Day weekend show,

I've got my hush-puppies on,

I guess I never was meant for

Glitter rock and roll.

And honey I didn't know

That I'd be missin' you so.

Come Monday It'll be all right,

Come Monday I'll be holding you tight.

I spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze

And I just want you back by my side.

Yes it's been quite a summer,

Rent-a-cars and west bound trains.

And now you're off on vacation,

Somethin' you tried to explain.

And darlin' I love you so that's

The reason I just let you go.

Come Monday It'll be all right,

Come Monday I'll be holding you tight.

I spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze

And I just want you back by my side.

I can't help it honey,

You're that much a part of me now.

Remember the night in Montana when

We said there'd be no room for doubt.

I hope you're enjoyin' the scenery,

I know that it's pretty up there.

We can go hikin on Tuesday,

With you I'd walk anywhere.

California has worn me quite thin,

I just can't wait to see you again.

Come Monday It'll be all right,

Come Monday I'll be holding you tight.

I spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze

And I just want you back by my side.

Carole King and Gerry Goffin wrote hundreds of stellar songs that were covered by many artists including The Beatles, Byrds, and The Beach Boys. Yeah! No kidding. 

Pleasant Valley Sunday was a huge hit for The Monkees. A nice 1967 slap at suburbia. And I think the line "my thoughts all seem to stray to places far away" points to Vietnam. I wonder how many of the teenage girls knew they were singing a protest song when they sang along with the Monkees.  

Pleasant Valley Sunday

Carole King/Gerry Goffin

Your local rock group down the street

Is trying hard to learn this song

To serenade the weekend squire

Just came out to mow his lawn

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Charcoal burnin' everywhere

Rows of houses that are all the same

And no one seems to care

See Mrs. Gray she's proud today

Because her roses are in bloom

And Mr. Green he's so serene

He's got a TV in every room

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Here in status symbol land

Mothers complain about how hard life is

And the kids just don't understand

Creature comfort goals they only numb my soul

And make it hard for me to see

My thoughts all seem to stray to places far away

I need a change of scenery

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Charcoal burning everywhere

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Here in status symbol land

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

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Sitting by the camp fire yesterday evening I noticed golden glowing sparkles coming from the long damp October grass. It was the quick time between the last few minutes of day and the launch of night when your eyes can get confused. At first I thought it was broken shards of beer bottle glass or mower chewed tin foil. Upon closer inspection, I found out the glimmering twinkles were dying lightning bugs. Thousands of ‘em lying in moist green graves. Weird. I had never witnessed this event before. Not enough life left to fly; barely enough to glow. All day long yesterday the yellow jackets were terribly aggressive. I guess they were looking for one last sting. Godzilla big spiders have been trying to take up winter residence inside along with assorted bugs I can’t identify. I usually lift the dust pan to eye level and inspect the deceased corpses. They seem to make it inside and then die. Maybe they use all their remaining life to break in. Come to think of it I am sitting in a big pine box with windows. A big bug casket. Now I have that image crawling in my mind. Ugh!

Fall is upon us. Summer’s living jungle greens have given birth to autumn’s dying burnt sienna browns. Yesterday, a walk through the October forest or a long country drive would have filled your note pad or voice recorder full of prompts about……………

Mickey Newbury continues to fascinate me. I highly recommend listening to

An American Trilogy, a four cd collection showcasing his talents, thousands of times. I only have 897 to go.....

I Don't Think About Her Much Anymore

Mickey Newbury

You know I don't think much about her no more
And seldom if ever does she cross my mind
Yesterday's gone Lord it's better forgotten
Like the poison red berries to die on the vine

This mornin' at dawn Lord I pulled in town
Had some coffee and talked with some old friends of mine
Laughing at the good times they remembered
Then I remembered a time

Lord, I can still see the bright lights back in Dallas
As yesterday moves like a dream through my mind
I didn't suppose that I'd ever forget her
And you know it took such a long time

But I don't think much about her no more
Seldom if ever does she cross my mind
Yesterday's gone and it's better forgotten
It's like a poison red berry that clings to the mind

Wow. Wait until you hear it. It makes you feel like you are at a close friend's  funeral on a damp rainy day.

Notice the scheme is ABAB, but he uses the same rhyme and sometimes words on the Bs. To combat boredom he modulates between verse 2 and 3.

Good stuff.

Gone To Wyoming, a killer song written and recorded by Walt Leuzinger, is up in his stall in Barnagie Hall. Give it a listen. 

I love it! Lyrics ring true with me.

Gone To Wyoming

Walt Leuzinger

There is a place with rolling miles of sagebrush prairie

and mountains wearing caps of snow

Where red rock canyons reflect each sunset

and all the weary cowboys have someplace to call their own

Gone to Wyoming

Don’t bother calling

Come find me if you need me but it won’t be the same

The roads are closed and the gate is shut behind me

‘cause I’m not gonna play the rat race game

I quit the game

My mind is clear as a snow melt stream in Sunlight Basin

My spirit free to go where eagles go

And so I climb the great Chief Joseph highway

Following the footsteps of a man I want to know

Gone To Wyoming

Don’t bother calling

Come find me if you need me but it won’t be the same

The roads are closed and the gate is shut behind me

‘cause I’m not gonna play the rat race game

I quit the game

No more boss to please

No more rush hour jam

No more on my knees

At peace with who I am

So look for me along the banks of big Wind River

Call my name at Yellowstone

Search for me in the Absaroka alpine meadows

Beyond the treeline where the Indian Paintbrush grows

Gone to Wyoming

Don’t bother calling

Come find me if you need me but it won’t be the same

The roads are closed and the gate is shut behind me

‘cause I’m not gonna play the rat race game

I quit the game

 “God, I learned more about songwriting from Mickey than I did any other single human being. To me he was a songbird. He comes out with amazing words and music... I’m sure that I never would have written Bobby McGee, Sunday Morning Coming Down... if I had never known Mickey. He was my hero and still is.”

Kris Kristofferson

Mickey Newbury's songs have been covered by hundreds of  artists. Over 1000 covers! Plus, he recorded 25 albums in 35 years. His songs are worth a long study. Here is one of my many favorites.

The Future is Not What it Used To Be

Mickey Newbury

I left Decatur hell bent to forget
Bought a ticket back to Skowhegan Maine
I would up in Seattle so drunk and so rattled
Lord I caught the wrong train

I found some fast easy women and some hard drinkin' men
Swore I'd drown the sorrow in me
Oh I once had a lot
But the future was not not what it used to be

Ah the years they went by I went steadily downhill
til I had no place left to go
Made the missions by mornin' made the dives every night
til I made a wreck of my body and soul

And then I met a lady
In time she made me forget her love set me free
Oh we didn't have a lot
But the future was just not what it used to be

I never thought I would live to get old
For the past cut a hole deep in me

But there was the chance 

To be here a while longer at least I wanted to be

Somebody told me she was in town
I found out today
Lord how it hurts me to hear that she's down
But what else can I say

I know her sorrow I know her pain I know her need
 I once loved her a lot
But the future just not not what it used to be

Take a look at On Tuesday written by Ivan Doroschuk. 

Interesting take on a love song.

On Tuesday 

On Tuesday, you came in from the storm
On Tuesday, you came and made me warm
On Tuesday

On Tuesday, you made me fly
Much higher than before
On Tuesday, you made me cry
And made me smile for more
'Cause, love is something I adore
On Tuesday

On Tuesday, you saved my life
I was nothing but a wall
On Tuesday you made me high
I was flying on the floor
'Cause, love is something I adore
On Tuesday

It was only make believe
Then along came Tuesday
Changed everything
On Tuesday

On Tuesday, you wave goodbye
You step into the storm
On Tuesday, you save my life
A smile will keep me warm

On Tuesday, you made me cry
Like a child being born
On Tuesday, you made me high
I'll be flying ever more
'Cause, love is something I adore
On Tuesday

It was only make believe
Then along came Tuesday
Changed everything
On Tuesday

On Tuesday
On Tuesday
On Tuesday

Started reading Bird By Bird Some Instructions On Writing And Life by Anne Lamott last night. Finding it very entertaining and informative so far. Have to share this passage. She is explaining what happens when you sit down to write. 

“You sit down, I say. You try to sit down at approximately the same time every day. This is how you train your unconscious to kick in for you creatively. So you sit down at, say, nine every morning, or ten every night. You put a piece of paper in the typewriter, or you turn on your computer and bring up the right file, and then you stare at it for an hour or so. You begin rocking, just a little at first, and then like a huge autistic child. You look at the ceiling, and over at the clock, yawn, and stare at the paper again. Then, with your fingers poised on the keyboard, you squint at an image that is forming in your mind— a scene, a locale, a character , whatever— and you try to quiet your mind so you can hear what that landscape or character has to say above the other voices in your mind. The other voices are banshees and drunken monkeys. They are the voices of anxiety, judgment, doom, guilt. Also, severe hypochondria. There may be a Nurse Ratched– like listing of things that must be done right this moment: foods that must come out of the freezer, appointments that must be canceled or made, hairs that must be tweezed. But you hold an imaginary gun to your head and make yourself stay at the desk. There is a vague pain at the base of your neck. It crosses your mind that you have meningitis. Then the phone rings and you look up at the ceiling with fury, summon every ounce of noblesse oblige, and answer the call politely, with maybe just the merest hint of irritation. The caller asks if you’re working, and you say yeah, because you are. Yet somehow in the face of all this, you clear a space for the writing voice, hacking away at the others with machetes, and you begin to compose sentences. You begin to string words together like beads to tell a story. You are desperate to communicate, to edify or entertain, to preserve moments of grace or joy or transcendence, to make real or imagined events come alive. But you cannot will this to happen. It is a matter of persistence and faith and hard work. So you might as well just go ahead and get started.”

“Any writer who has difficulty in writing is probably not onto his true subject, but wasting time with false, petty goals; as soon as you connect with your true subject you will write.” – Joyce Carole Oats

 “If you’re actually allowing your creative part to control your writing rather than a more commercial instinct or motive, then you’ll find that all sorts of interesting things will bubble up to the surface.” – Emma Thompson

I agree. Songwriters can write a song about anything. Give a songwriter a prompt and you will have a song. But, to end up with a great song, you must care about your subject. Have something you want to say. A reason for the song. A targeted emotion you want to pass on. A feeling that means something to you. 

Give your self a treat and check out singer songwriter Karine Polwart. Here is one of my favorites that I think of  every election season when I can't seem to escape the tidal wave of political radio and TV ads. 

Skater Of The Surface

Skater of the surface

Where the ice is thin

Without plan or point or purpose

You just spin and spin and spin and spin

Skater of the surface

You never, never cross the line 

And if it’s true that ignorance is bliss

Then you must be laughing all the time 

You see what’s before your eyes

And there’s no lies and no disguise

A riptide’s gonna pull you under

Skater of the surface

You have nothing, nothing to say 

Without plan or point or purpose

You’re just spinning your life away

You see what’s before your eyes

And there’s no lies and no disguise

A riptide’s gonna pull you under

Quite a few killer lines in this wonderful song.

Dancer To The Drum
Beth Nielsen Chapman

Fast asleep in the dawn of ages
The soul of every child
has waited to be born a stranger
underneath the drum of his mother's heart

Lying deep in a dream of darkness
where fear has never gone
each spark of a life is started
blind and pure to the world we come
blind and pure to the world we come

Each of us a dancer to the drum
each of us a dancer to the drum
blind and pure we come

One is born into a life of hunger
one will be a king or a rich man's son
one will kill out of greed or anger
one will give his life for another one

There are lies in the smiles of innocence
There are blooms in walls of stone
and we will see ourselves
in the eyes of everyone we have ever known
everyone we have ever known

And the heart, the heart will ever be a witness
and precious time, no treasure is worth
and the child, the child will carry our existence
through the days that we have on earth

Each of us a dancer to the drum
each of us a dancer to the drum
Blind and pure we come

Fast asleep in the dawn of ages
the soul of every child waited to be born a stranger
born a dancer to the drum.

Like a Summer Thursday is yet another example of the brilliance of Townes Van Zandt. He packs so much emotion in 12 lines using simple everyday words. Wow.

Like A Summer Thursday

Townes Van Zandt

Her face was crystal fair and fine

Her breath was morning her lips were wine

Her eyes were laughter her touch divine

Her face was crystal and she was mine

If only she could feel my pain

But feelin' is a burden she can't sustain

So like a summer Thursday I cry for rain

To come and turn the ground to green again

If only she could her my songs

'Bout the empty difference' tween the rights and wrongs

then I know that I could stand alone 

As well as they now that she's gone

Her face was crystal fair and fine

Her breath was morning her lips were wine

Her eyes were laughter her touch divine

Her face was crystal and she was mine

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What a moon tonight! 

They say people do strange things under the influence of a full moon. Made me think of the hit song Moonlight In Vermont. Lyrics written by John Blackburn and the melody written by Karl Suessdorf. A very unusual song in many ways. Let's look at the lyrics.

Moonlight In Vermont

Pennies in a stream

fallen leaves of sycamore

moonlight in Vermont

Icy fingers waves

ski trails on a mountain side

snow light in Vermont

Telegraph cables

they swing down the highway

and travel each bend in the road

People who meet in this romantic setting

are so hypnotized by the lovely

evening summer breeze

warbling of a meadow lark

moonlight in Vermont

Telegraph cables

they swing down the highway

and travel each bend in the road

People who meet in this romantic setting

are so hypnotized by the lovely

evening summer breeze

warbling of a meadow lark

moonlight in Vermont

You and I and moonlight in Vermont

Notice anything reading the lyrics?

No rhymes! 

Plus the verses are haiku!

Yep.

Another odd fact is that sycamore trees and meadow larks are rare in Vermont. John Blackburn was from Ohio

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"'Post code envy' describe the envious feeling towards the people who can live in expansive area with well known post code (such as 90210 for hollywood)."

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“Show ‘em don’t tell ‘em” and use “conversational words” are talked about at every songwriting and creative writing meeting. For good reason, they are important guidelines for writers. A stellar example is Annie’s Song written by John Denver.

You fill up my senses
Like a night in a forest
Like the mountains in springtime
Like a walk in the rain
Like a storm in the desert
Like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses
Come fill me again

Come let me love you
Let me give my life to you
Let me drown in your laughter
Let me die in your arms
Let me lay down beside you
Let me always be with you
Come let me love you
Come love me again

Come let me love you
Let me give my life to you
Come let me love you
Come love me again

You fill up my senses
Like a night in a forest
Like the mountains in springtime
Like a walk in the rain
Like a storm in the desert
Like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses
Come fill me again

“Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about. It is this genuine caring, and not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.”

Kurt Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut’s eight rules for writing a short story:

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

4. Every sentence must do one of two things-reveal character or advance the action.

5. Start as close to the end as possible.

6. Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them-in order that the reader may see what they are made of.

7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

From his book of short stories Bagombo Snuff Box.

Great stuff to think about and apply. Just remember songwriters only have about 200 words to accomplish the task!

"Music does bring people together.
It allows us to experience the same emotions.
People everywhere are the same in heart and spirit.
No matter what language we speak, what color we are,
the form of our politics or the expression of our love and our faith, music proves: We are the same."

John Denver 

"I think music in itself is healing.
It's an explosive expression of humanity.
It's something we are all touched by.
No matter what culture we're from,
everyone loves music." 

 Billy Joel 

Sunless Saturday is another uniquely structured song that was a hit for Fishbone in the early '90s. Written by Kendall Jones. A couple nice images and a good message.

Sunless Saturday

I see the pestilence outside my window

I see the dung heaps piled at least a mile high

I see the shards of shattered dreams in the street

I face the morning with my customary sigh

I hear the sounds of children laughing aloud

A stumbling wind has attracted quite a crowd

My breakfast finished now I brave the outside

But clouds have hidden all the warmth inside

Chase these clouds away

I hate this sunless Saturday

Freedom come

For us now

Light our sky

Burn away these clouds

Perhaps the charcoal grey and brown around me

Is just the mirror image of tainted soul

I think the sun will never visit my sky

Until the truth is seen by each and every eye

I see the helpless and I see the insane

I see a pauper singing in the pouring rain

I see the means of help elude us again

I think the sun will never visit me again