SONGS
1967
By James Moyer
A mythic ode to the "summer of love."
Demo, arr. for voice, piano, guitar, and horn
Video can’t be displayed
1967
Gently she said, “I cannot be your flame”She had to go away and sigh about the sorrow of streams and what will beI can’t revive her anywhere else but here
Words don’t appear to availI can’t explain her at allMusic’s the only way there
I tend to her summer of love all of my days
One day I was lonesome, feeling lost in summer airThe usual kind of separation had exposed my many thoughts and words to sheer despairI was so lonesome when she afforded me her smile
And though at first I criedAnd though her flight was severe The music she gave was so clear
I tend to her summer of love all of my daysI tend to her summer of loveall her garden flowers,all her dreams and shadows
I will keep dancing I swearSinging the song of her nameWinter is always so near
I tend to her summer of love all of my daysI tend to her summer of loveall her garden flowersall her dreams and shadowsall her garden flowersall her dreams and shadows
James Moyer © 2013
Words don’t appear to availI can’t explain her at allMusic’s the only way there
I tend to her summer of love all of my days
One day I was lonesome, feeling lost in summer airThe usual kind of separation had exposed my many thoughts and words to sheer despairI was so lonesome when she afforded me her smile
And though at first I criedAnd though her flight was severe The music she gave was so clear
I tend to her summer of love all of my daysI tend to her summer of loveall her garden flowers,all her dreams and shadows
I will keep dancing I swearSinging the song of her nameWinter is always so near
I tend to her summer of love all of my daysI tend to her summer of loveall her garden flowersall her dreams and shadowsall her garden flowersall her dreams and shadows
James Moyer © 2013
Hey Stars
By James Moyer
A nature lyric of beauty and longing.
Raw demo (at digital piano); demo w/ full arrangement (e.g., for contrapuntal voices) upon request.
Video can’t be displayed
Hey Stars
In October of joy
and August desire
and April of sighs
You're always up there
Hey stars, what do you tell?
Autumn is always in the air
Hey sun, you are a star
warmer than bloom, warmer than seed
burning the flowers in the field
It's October again
and August is gone
but never the wind
you run through the skies
Hey wind, what do you say?
Yearning is every thing that cries
Hey breeze, you are the wind
softer than breath, softer than skin
breaking the hearts of those who feel
Your October of skies
or August of dust
or April of streams
is more real than dreams
Hey rain, what is your creed?
Colder than mist, colder than sea
water the flowers on the hill
Hey rain, you are the spring
bringing me joy to no avail
James Moyer © 2018
More music...
If you'd like to hear my 3-song demo package, please email me for a private Soundcloud link, or sample temporarily below::
"Picabo Street": The revolution of women in sports as seen by children.
"Song of the Child Brides": Child marriage from the point of view of the girls.
"She's a __": A woman on what men say about women.
Songs written and arranged by James MoyerAudio engineer: Rich Grant
Picabo Street
From Mary T. Meagher to Picabo Streetthere were dreams descending on the breezes, SaturdaysFrom Waterloo, Iowa to Leavenworth Streetyou could see them playing on a summer dayMary T. Meagher to Picabo Streetget a sign that says, “Don’t Be A Second Stringer, Dear”
From Mission Viejo to Bethany Beachthere were girls and boys with their faces fighting fearFrom Mary Lou Retton to Marion Jones,you could hear their battles score a summer dayMission Viejo to Bethany Beachsomeone always sneers, “Don’t be a second stringer, dear”
Mary T. Meagher is the greatest American swimmer that I’ve ever seen. What about, what about, what about, what about, what about Mark Spitz?
From Mary T. Meagher to Picabo Streetthere were dreams arising it was 1970From Waterloo, Iowa to Leavenworth Streetyou could see them winning on a summer dayMary T. Meagher to Picabo Streetget a sign that says, “Don’t De A Second Stringer Here”
Mary, the dream’s in your heart when you crawlMary Lou, always remember the wayMary, your friends, they will wait by the pool…
Mary, don’t take to the pity of foolsMary Lou, don’t entertain second placeMary, don’t pass on your dreams and your fire…
Mary T. Meagher is the greatest American swimmer that I’ve ever seen!Mary Lou Retton was America’s darling, oh, barely even seventeen!…
What about what about what about what about what aboutWhat about what about what about what about what aboutWhat about what about what about what about what about…
Mark Spitz?! / Olga Korbut?!Mark Spitz?! / Olga Korbut?!Mark Spitz?! / Olga Korbut?!
Mary T. Meagher to Picabo StreetMary T. Meagher to Picabo StreetMary T. Meagher to Picabo StreetMary T. Meagher to Picabo StreetMary T. Meagher to Picabo Street
Picabo StreetPicabo StreetPicabo Street
Song of the Child Brides
Rich man, poor man, which will you wed?Which will you know?Which will lay you down on his bed?
Rich man, poor man, which will you wed?Which will you know?Either way, get married tomorrow!
Somewhere there’s a kindly manWith a goodly soulI refuse to think he’s like the other menThoughVoices in my headVoices in my bedVoices in my head say, “Don’t trust a soul.”
When the farmer down in the dellTakes him a wifeDo you hear the toll of the bell?
When the farmer down in the dellTakes him a wifeChildren sing, “Run, run for your life!”
This day rushes like a dreamTo my marriage bedI decide again he’s just the one for meIfIf I give and takeIf I sew and bakeIf I give and take and lay down the rule.
Rich man, poor man, which will you wed?Which will you know?Which will lay you down on his bed?
Rich man, poor man, which will you wed?Fall like you’re deadLast one down gets married tomorrow!
Someday in a golden fieldHeaven’s golden fieldI will run and play just like I used to doThoughIf the truth be toldIf I be so boldIf the truth be told, I feel like a fool.
All works © James Moyer. All rights reserved.
From Mary T. Meagher to Picabo Streetthere were dreams descending on the breezes, SaturdaysFrom Waterloo, Iowa to Leavenworth Streetyou could see them playing on a summer dayMary T. Meagher to Picabo Streetget a sign that says, “Don’t Be A Second Stringer, Dear”
From Mission Viejo to Bethany Beachthere were girls and boys with their faces fighting fearFrom Mary Lou Retton to Marion Jones,you could hear their battles score a summer dayMission Viejo to Bethany Beachsomeone always sneers, “Don’t be a second stringer, dear”
Mary T. Meagher is the greatest American swimmer that I’ve ever seen. What about, what about, what about, what about, what about Mark Spitz?
From Mary T. Meagher to Picabo Streetthere were dreams arising it was 1970From Waterloo, Iowa to Leavenworth Streetyou could see them winning on a summer dayMary T. Meagher to Picabo Streetget a sign that says, “Don’t De A Second Stringer Here”
Mary, the dream’s in your heart when you crawlMary Lou, always remember the wayMary, your friends, they will wait by the pool…
Mary, don’t take to the pity of foolsMary Lou, don’t entertain second placeMary, don’t pass on your dreams and your fire…
Mary T. Meagher is the greatest American swimmer that I’ve ever seen!Mary Lou Retton was America’s darling, oh, barely even seventeen!…
What about what about what about what about what aboutWhat about what about what about what about what aboutWhat about what about what about what about what about…
Mark Spitz?! / Olga Korbut?!Mark Spitz?! / Olga Korbut?!Mark Spitz?! / Olga Korbut?!
Mary T. Meagher to Picabo StreetMary T. Meagher to Picabo StreetMary T. Meagher to Picabo StreetMary T. Meagher to Picabo StreetMary T. Meagher to Picabo Street
Picabo StreetPicabo StreetPicabo Street
Song of the Child Brides
Rich man, poor man, which will you wed?Which will you know?Which will lay you down on his bed?
Rich man, poor man, which will you wed?Which will you know?Either way, get married tomorrow!
Somewhere there’s a kindly manWith a goodly soulI refuse to think he’s like the other menThoughVoices in my headVoices in my bedVoices in my head say, “Don’t trust a soul.”
When the farmer down in the dellTakes him a wifeDo you hear the toll of the bell?
When the farmer down in the dellTakes him a wifeChildren sing, “Run, run for your life!”
This day rushes like a dreamTo my marriage bedI decide again he’s just the one for meIfIf I give and takeIf I sew and bakeIf I give and take and lay down the rule.
Rich man, poor man, which will you wed?Which will you know?Which will lay you down on his bed?
Rich man, poor man, which will you wed?Fall like you’re deadLast one down gets married tomorrow!
Someday in a golden fieldHeaven’s golden fieldI will run and play just like I used to doThoughIf the truth be toldIf I be so boldIf the truth be told, I feel like a fool.
All works © James Moyer. All rights reserved.