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George Donaldson
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A Song for Harry Chapin
I got out of bed in a foggy day,
I drove my car on the motorway,
To the airport for a trans-Atlantic plane.
While checking in he was on my mind,
From another place, another time
And he showed me how to dream in other ways.
The image that my mind could see,
Was his stories, and his charities
And the passion when I hear him sing his songs.
At times the details seemed absurd,
But he had me hanging on every word.
Of how the world to him was right or wrong.
He opened up my eyes to a new style of song,
Like a book or like a movie, and it lasted just as long.
I followed every word he'd say, his songs blew my mind away
The world should hear his name and share his love.
The day that I discovered him,
I was singing and the lights were dim,
When a stranger came to me and said his name.
I swore that I would check to see,
With the money that he gave to me,
And now my life can never be the same.
'Cause, he opened up my eyes to a new style of song,
Like a book or like a movie, and it lasted just as long.
I followed every word he'd say, his songs blew my mind away,
The world should hear his name and share his love.
He was born in 1942, New York City, a place he knew so well,
He would sing his songs about folk he knew,
And he'd make you feel like you knew them too,
Like, you knew them too.
And he gave he a poor damn fool, such a better place to be,
Somewhere in his morning sunshine.
He would never let his dreams go by,
As he looked the world straight in the eye.
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And you'd always find him in the same old way,
If you met him any time of day,
Any time of day.
And instead he gave some fool, such a better place to be,
Somewhere in his morning sunshine.
Ah, the cheating mayor will still deny,
The son who'd caught the daughter's eye,
And the baritone who took his shot,
Using all he'd save, and he'd lose a lot,
Give it all he got.
But somewhere in his heart,
He'd find that same old place,
Somewhere in his morning sunshine.
Sunshine.
It was on a Thursday, mid-July,
He got into his car to drive,
The gods had chose to throw his final dice,
He was off to Eisenhower Park,
To Place Meadow in New York,
The Long Island Express way took his life.
Harry took his final breath,
The world will live with Harry's death
Still the genius of his work in songs unfurl.
He was a man who took his time on Earth,
Proving what his life was worth,
To find out what would happened to this world.
Now we're left with the stories of his life,
As he drives his taxi to the skies,
No more planes to catch, no bills to pay.
He was a troubadour from America,
A visionary who touched the stars.
Now his morning sunshine's gone away
He took his morning sunshine away.
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